


Deflection/Foundation

by Saeva



Series: The Architecture Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (But not a healthy way), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Anal Plug, Angst and Porn, Bathing/Washing, Bruises, Caretaking, Cock Cages, Cock Warming, Come Marking, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Forced Bonding, Fucked Up, Hand Feeding, Harry's under 18 but over the age of consent, Humiliation, M/M, Marks, Miscommunication, Morning After, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Touching, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Ownership, POV Harry Potter, Pet Names, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Voldemort (Harry Potter), Power Imbalance, Prostate Milking, Protectiveness, Psychological Trauma, Rimming, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Sex Magic, Sexual Violence, Stubborn Harry Potter, Teaching, Threats, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22701073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeva/pseuds/Saeva
Summary: As the first day of their married life dawns for Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter the two men -- one still nearly a boy -- begin a complex negotiation of power, control, and sexuality. Harry would settle for safety for himself and, more importantly, his friends, but Voldemort has much bigger and more complicated plans for his prophesized equal... if he can get the boy under his control for now.Featuring kink, sex, and a surprising amount of talking about feelings. Plus, Hermione comes to visit and Harry's not entirely sure how he feels about that.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: The Architecture Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632745
Comments: 68
Kudos: 507





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Along with all the items warned/tagged above -- and, please, keep in mind that this is _extremely_ dubious consent -- there's also brief discussion of forced pregnancy and leveraging a fetus/infant against one of the parents by the others.
> 
> Everyone can blame Jade. She egged me on. Beta'ed by [GryphonFeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryphonfeather), who did a wonderful and super fast job.

August 2nd, 1996

Harry comes up from sleep slowly, the cloying temptation of dreams keeping him sedate for much longer than he normally lingers in bed. Even during the summer. 

_That’s one good thing that came of this. I don’t ever have to see the Dursleys again._

For now he swallows around the soreness in the back of his throat and pushes himself up to sitting. He needs to use the toilet. His eyes scan the suite for Voldemort and, when he sees no one, let alone an angelic looking bastard, lurking around, he climbs out of the overly tall bed with a wince. He aches, limping to the wardrobe by the vanity. It has clothes for him - in his size, at least - and he slips on a long robe to cover himself with. Unlike the sheer lingerie, this fabric, some sort of soft cotton, holds some weight and hides him from view. That it only makes the chafing more noticeable over his sore nipples is a fair tradeoff for modesty.

A door opens, delicious smells -- of ham and hash and cinnamon -- stirring through the air as Voldemort brings a tray full of food in with him. It smells good. It looks as if it’ll taste good. But he still needs to use the toilet. 

“Where do I put the… plug? I need to use the toilet.” 

Voldemort frowns at him but the need presses insistently on Harry’s body now. Then the absent wave of a wand, a warmth inside of him, and the pressure disappears. A cleaning spell for the inside. _He didn’t even ask._

“I’ll teach you the spell to use for yourself,” Voldemort says, setting the tray down on a small table that simply appears at the end of the bed. 

“What about putting it away later? I don’t know where they go,” Harry says. His voice stays calm, even detached, like he’s asking what’s for breakfast. 

And Voldemort strides over to skim a hand over Harry’s back, at the top of the spine, and tell him, “It’s nothing to concern yourself with. When I want to change the plug in you, I’ll do so.” 

Harry’s stomach turns to ice, his skin burning underneath his robe at the shadow of the touch, as that sinks in. The wood in him now bothers him only because his rim, stretched so much the night before, aches with the soreness of a well-used muscle. Every movement, every limp, causes him to clench around the hard material. One that’s longer or thicker or bigger would be much more noticeable. 

And Voldemort might make it that at any moment. 

Struggling to keep his voice even, easy, though it shows the strain from last night, Harry says, “You’re going to keep me… Like this all the time then?” He walks over to the vanity so _thoughtfully_ chosen for him and sits down. He only winces a bit when it jars the plug. 

“Yes, I intend to.” Voldemort walks up behind him, clearly visible in the mirror directly to his front and left. The right one is at the wrong angle. “Take off the robe, darling.” 

Harry’s fingers clench in his lap but slowly he raises his hands and slips the robe off his shoulders, watching himself in the mirror with only the blurry shadow of Voldemort overseeing Harry’s actions. He strips himself of the covering, revealing a map of his husband’s indulgences. 

A ring of finger-shaped bruises around his throat.

Big, puffy nipples that make his stomach squirm to see, so unlike the little rosy nubs he’s used to.

A bite mark along his ribs that he can’t remember getting. 

Bruises at his waist. When he stands, curious how far it goes, he sees his hips covered with two deep bruises from too tight grips. 

His genitals, completely bare and open to his _husband_ instead of lightly haired the way he’s used to them being. 

“I don’t…” Look like myself. “Have anything for my aches.” He looks down, away from his body, away from the echo of Voldemort in the mirror. “I’d like something.” 

The echo grows into a shadow that, even in the low morning light from a mostly covered window, looms over Harry as the other man approaches him from behind. “I asked you last night if I must teach you manners. It’s seeming more and more likely.” 

His face blooms red. He can feel the heat in his cheeks. But his throat aches and he wants the reminder that he took the other man’s cock down it fully gone. “Please, can I have something for my aches?” 

“May. But go on. Continue. What, precisely, are you looking for, little prince?” Voldemort’s large hand touches the back of Harry’s dark hair, stroking down that, then the boy’s spine, making him shiver.

Little prince. Merlin. He feels more a slave than a prince here and he clenches his fists in the fabric of the robe, holding it in front of him like a shield. “My throat aches. My nipples. You can see the bruises on my hips. My --” Don’t be crude. “And I ache between my legs. I know you want to keep the bruises on my throat but the other ones, they’d be hidden anyway. Please.” 

“I think you look lovely.” Fingers run along the marks on his hips and this time he shudders. 

“Maybe something for my throat? So I can eat. _Please_.” 

That gets a small, thoughtful frown. “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t want you to go hungry because it hurts to swallow.” Voldemort’s wand flicks in the direction of his dresser and a drawer opens, a vial floating out and over. “Drink this.” 

It tastes of sour mint and it’s thick to swallow but the relief comes almost immediately. By the time Harry hands back the vial his throat no longer feels scraped and swollen on the inside. “Thank you,” he says, because he knows if he doesn’t he will be made to regret it. 

“Come. Back to bed with you.” Harry tries to bring the robe and Voldemort takes it from him, tossing it towards the hamper. “You don’t need that.” 

He’s put back in the bed. Tucked in under the covers to keep him warm. The tray is brought over to settle, breakfast-in-bed style, over his knees, but slightly out of reach for him as he sits back against the pillows. 

Voldemort picks up a cinnamon roll, the sweetness making Harry’s mouth water, and tears off a piece to bring up to his own lips. The ache of watching it makes Harry bold enough to lean forward, reach for a piece of his own. The man frowns sharply at him and he drops his hand away, stomach clenching. _He wouldn’t have healed my throat only to_ not _feed me, would he?_ Of course, this is Voldemort, a man known for his cruelty. Little could be crueler to Harry, who looks away from the man and the food. 

A piece being pressed to his lips doesn’t surprise him -- he felt the motion of the hand, sensed it coming nearer -- and he opens his mouth. The soft bread brushes his lips as the piece is hand-fed, Voldemort’s own fingertips brushing Harry’s lips briefly before pulling away. Maybe the cinnamon roll tastes amazing, sweet and light with the right amount of spice. Maybe it’s too spicy or too sweet or the bread slightly stale. He wouldn’t know, as he doesn’t taste it. He chews and swallows but inside his mind is racing, screaming at him to stop allowing this. Screaming at him to fight. 

Then he remembers Hermione sobbing into his chest as she realised she would never see her parents again. 

“Did you mean it about letting Hermione see her parents?” he asks. 

Voldemort gives him a sharp look, the eyes still green-green-green but the mouth tight. “Do not call me a liar, pet.” 

“So you meant it.” Harry sags back into the pillows, tension dropping out of his limbs as a quiet joy fills him. He can do this for Hermione, allow her that small thing. 

“Dependent on your good behaviour, of course, but yes, your mudblood may see her parents.” Harry doesn’t rise to the bait, pretending he never heard that word, and he takes a second bite of the cinnamon roll when it’s offered to him. 

_Don’t be crude. Wear what he tells you. Obey orders. Never push him away. Never stop him from touching you. Answer his questions._

Voldemort smirks. “You’re reciting the rules you’ve gathered in your head. How very obedient of you.” 

Anger pulses through Harry that not even his thoughts are his alone but he squashes it down. “Thank you. May --” _See, I remembered about ‘can’,_ , he thinks at Voldemort. “ -- she visit them today?” 

“No, not today. I have more pressing matters to attend to than the arrangement of such a trip and, either way, I want proof that your behaviour will hold with that delicious little temper of yours bursting through you.”

Another piece of cinnamon roll presses to his lips and he opens his mouth again, more willing to participate when he knows it has a purpose. The roll does taste fluffy and sweet with a good amount of cinnamon. He licks his lips to get the leftover spice. Voldemort’s green eyes watch the motion and Harry’s stomach squirms. He wishes he had someone to talk to about this, anyone who might be able to give him some sort of answers. 

“What I find most interesting, Harry, is that you are making no attempt to stop me from your thoughts.” 

“I’m pants at Occlumency.” 

“Did Severus tell you that? He is an impressive Occlumens himself, so much so that I have often doubted his true loyalty since my return. But -- Tell me about your Muggles.” Harry freezes, his expression going blank for a moment -- a moment the other man clearly catches -- before he fakes casual. Before he can answer, Voldemort sighs. “And, ah, there it is. Now, little one. Pay attention to what your thoughts are doing. Do they feel big or small? Are they racing or quiet?” 

He opens his mouth after thinking about it. “Small.” It fits the Dursleys. They’re very small, petty people. 

“And now attempt to think something at me. Anything at all.” _I don’t know what you want from me._ “Big or small?” 

“... Big.” 

“Yes. Make your thoughts small and it would take effort to reach them. Let them remain large and they’re unprotected.” 

Harry frowns. “Snape said it was about clearing your mind. And that Legilimens is about memories, not mind reading.” He attempts to match his professor’s sneer when he says that and Voldemort’s lips twitch. 

“You think in the present. Your thoughts are in the past. It’s in the very wording of it. Keep your thoughts small. Protect them. And if you practice at this, properly, I will even promise not to intentionally intrude on them unless I think it the safest option.” 

“Why would it ever be the safest option?” Harry reaches out and snags a small bite of ham, swallowing it in a moment and sucking one of the fingers into his mouth. He keeps his thoughts _small_ and switches to licking a sweet glaze off his thumb instead as he watches the other man for a sign of anger. Or pleasure, for that matter. 

The dark eyes do track his mouth for a moment before Voldemort fully smiles. It’s Tom Riddle’s charming style made tighter, realer to Harry, and he takes the hand at Harry’s mouth. He’s holding his breath for pain but when another piece of ham is put directly to his lips he opens. He’s chewing this bite as the other man says, “I am being careful with your health but even I am capable of misjudgement, on occasion, and the human psyche is frustratingly vulnerable at times. If you did respond badly I would need a way to reach you or, at least, an understanding of the cause. Do you wish to feed yourself?” 

“Why would Snape lie?” 

Warm fingers squeeze his hand and let go. “I could ask him but if I had to wager… He might not have realised, not if some of your thoughts were clearly broadcasting to him. I only did because last night you kept switching between locking me out and being too physically overwhelmed to do so.” When Harry goes to reach for more food his hand is stopped this time. “You can add a rule against deflecting or avoiding questions to your list.”

The hitch in his next breath sounds painfully loud in the otherwise silent room. “Any question?”

“Any question.” 

He bites his lip, looking at the tray of food. “Being fed feels… strange. I think I’d rather feed myself.” He’d have to drag out the breakfast and hope that Voldemort got bored before he was finished either way. 

“You need only ask.” 

A frisson of what might be rage struggles towards the surface and he clenches his jaw for a long moment before asking, quietly, “Please, may I feed myself?” 

A fork slips into his hand and he clenches his fingers tight around it, knuckles going white, but reaches forward to pull the entire tray closer. It does have both hash and eggs on it, along with the rolls and ham, and it seems to be a single person serving. Voldemort does take part of a roll but then he stands, walking away from the bed as if he’d only delivered the tray in the first place. 

“I’ll be back later. For now, don’t leave these rooms. You should bathe. Don’t dress.” The casual drawl under the specific orders makes Harry’s skin flush with heat, reddened with embarrassment and anger in equal measure, but he keeps his mouth shut until the man leaves. 

“I will behave,” he tells himself quietly. “For Hermione, the Weasleys, Luna, Neville. I can do this.”

Then he finishes breakfast, drawing out the meal until the roll no longer feels fluffily warm. It, at least, was not an order. He was not ordered to eat. But, eventually, he has no more food to occupy himself with and he pushes the tray away. It disappears with a pop. 

The bathroom looks the same save the gentle warmth of sunlight from a tall window above Harry’s easy viewing range in place of what must have been witchlight the night before. The towel has been picked up but there’s a stack of clean ones on a wooden shelf near the bath. He turns the water on with a verbal command -- as instructed by a note in the graceful, pretty handwriting he recognises from the diary -- and when it pours out, steaming and rapid, he investigates the options for soaps and cleansers. 

Slipping into the hot, hot water makes him moan, the small aches on his body relaxing even as his muscles do. The bath’s easily large enough for him to float in the middle while touching neither end, the sides only reachable if he stretches out his hands, so he does that. He stretches out and lets himself float for a long time. 

Finally, as the water starts to cool slightly despite what must be a warming charm on it, Harry makes himself get down to cleaning. The bite on his ribs stung a little in the hot water, when he first got in, and it stings more as he carefully cleans it with a soapy, soft cloth. And no matter how long he thinks on it, he can’t remember Voldemort biting him. Not while he was awake. 

_I wouldn’t have slept through that._

With a spell would that be true? What else could the man have done, if he did that, while Harry slept? He shivers despite the hot bath and sinks further in, pouring orange spiced soap into the water and turning it back on. It runs again and doesn’t flood despite having more water than space, which must be another spell on the bath. Any of those might have interested him earlier but now he reaches down beneath the foamy top, running his fingers over his skin, to find bruises, marks, or bites that didn’t line up with the night before. 

A bruise around his ankle, from when he tried to kick before the first plug went in.

His hips. His neck. Faint fingertip marks on his arm but no bruises from the ropes. The puffy nipples. 

He remembers all of that. But he doesn’t remember being grabbed by his upper arm hard enough to bruise at the back side, hidden from the mirror earlier, and he doesn’t remember the bite. 

His lip wobbles. Did Voldemort… ? 

Pushing the thought from his mind for now Harry starts to wash himself, finding a shelf set into the bath to sit down on. He rubs, slowly at first, lightly in line with his aches, but as he reapplies the soap to scrub between his legs his hand moves faster, pushes harder. He _scrubs_. His bollocks feel strange under his touch, alien, too bare and too sensitive when he works the cloth around the skin and he scrubs harder. His cock gets the same treatment. 

Then he reaches between his legs, at his cleft, and scrubs even harder. He can’t clean his hole, jarring the plug when he cleans around it, but he can -- He can make himself cleaner. He can. 

A pop and slight, jarring clang drag him away from his scrubbing, making him realise how sore he is now even as he goes to investigate the object. A small tray with a small metal tin on it and a note from Voldemort. The note explains he should apply the cream to everywhere he hurts or has marks, save his neck with its visible bruising. He pushes himself up to sit on the ledge next to the bath (where he lost his virginity, where Voldemort took it only hours ago -- his stomach rolls, he swallows hard, but that, too, gets pressed down in the end, made smaller than small). 

He pushes himself up to sit on the ledge next to the bath and opens the tin, lathering the bite and bruises on his upper arm first. Only then do the other marks and aches get a similar treatment. His nipples knock pleasure through him when he touches them and he experiments with that, curious in a way he’s never been before, but soon enough they’re coated too. When he strokes his cock and bollocks his body pools with a soft pleasure, not nearly so immediate as when he wanked deliberately. 

That only leaves -- 

_*’As for application to your more sensitive parts, you are to come find me in the office attached to this suite.’*_

Now that the other aches are faded or fading it’s as if the ache in his arse, along the rim, even in the tightness where he clenches around the plug barely inside of him, has multiplied. He can’t ignore it as easily now. 

And… that was an order. 

Without thinking too deeply about what he’s doing Harry stands, takes a towel to dry off slightly, wrapping the fluffy, dark green cloth around himself until everywhere from his chest to his knees are covered, and makes his way out of the bath in search of Voldemort’s office. It isn’t difficult to find, the door partially cracked, the scratch of a quill coming from behind it when Harry ventures out of the bedroom. 

No, not a quill. Voldemort holds a fountain pen, a fancy one with a metal nub, loosely in his left hand as he draws out his crisply perfect letters on a long parchment. When he hears Harry shuffle in the older man glances up and offers a small smile. “Did the cream help?” 

And Harry nods. “Yes, thank you. What -- what are you working on?” 

Voldemort watches him seriously, not brushing him off like another adult might have done if Harry asked that question. “There’s some question of how the Wizengamot is going to function under my rule and I’m crafting a response. If you’re interested…?” 

Harry shakes his head. “No.”

“No, of course not. You only care so much as your little found family is safe. For that, I believe that your owl -- Hedwig, yes? -- has brought you missives from them. You may answer them once I dismiss you.” The idea he would already have letters from his friends doesn’t surprise him, but that Voldemort would allow him to see those letters… “Small, Harry. And I imagine it will be easier on you if you at least attempted to think of me as Marvolo, not Voldemort.” 

“A name change doesn’t change who you are.” 

“Oh, well, that’s debatable.” And with a flick of his wand letters, as clean as if written on a chalkboard, float in midair. Tom Marvolo Riddle. And then they move without changing in any other way. 

_I am Lord Voldemort._

“It’s an anagram?” Harry gapes. That’s so -- 

“I was rather young.” 

_The age I am now._ He keeps the words behind his teeth and his thoughts go small, but it isn’t the worst advice. Thinking of him as Voldemort will only make this harder. For now Harry steps forward, putting the tin on the edge of the desk and folding the towel to keep his hands busy. He can feel those dark green eyes on him as he reveals his damp, bare skin, and he can hear the parchment being moved. 

“Come here, over to my side, dearest.” 

His feet move even as he shivers, the air warming with a suddenness that means Voldemort must have seen and cast a spell. If only Harry had been shivering from the cold. “What are you --” He half-expects Voldemort to ‘apply’ the cream by coating his own dick with it and putting that in Harry, aches be damned. Those big hands gently move him to stand facing the desk away from Voldemort’s chair. 

“Brace your hands on the desk.” 

Harry does, his face burning, but he stays still and waits for the next order. Only the orders matter. He feels the slightest touch at the plug, working it out slowly, Harry’s arse clenching and holding, trying to keep the small wood piece inside of him. 

Harry whimpers and Voldemort soothes, “Shh, shh, here’s the cream, little one.” 

And ohhh. The cream, cool and thick, feels so good against the rim even before it’s pushed in, a splash of cold on the inside making Harry gasp and squirm. Then the fingers pull away and his stomach aches as his hole flutters around the emptiness.

“There, all better. Now, keep your hands where they are, Harry,” Voldemort orders, the strictness of his tone making the teenager grip the edge of the desk more tightly. 

His stomach clenches at a flash from the night before. A ‘ _Do you wish to be punished?_ ’ in a calm, unhurried tone. The slap to the sole of his foot that stung but didn’t cause harm. The threat of it becoming worse. 

He doesn’t want to be punished. He doesn’t know he’d rather be fucked than the slaps on his foot, but that’s hardly the only punishment his husband might come up with. All in all he’d been gentle with Harry yesterday, bruising his neck but healing up the pain behind the bruise. Using his mouth but also using a spell to ease Harry’s role, when it would have been all too easy to choke him. Fucking him only after making certain he could easily take the man’s size. 

Voldemort had been much, much gentler than Harry had any right or reason to expect. And even if he did… that -- He’d ask Voldemort not to do it. So far he’d gotten everything he asked for, even the cream was for that in the end. It’d work, asking, so long as he was polite. And it wasn’t too much to ask, was it? 

Even with the deal they’d made. 

All Voldemort asked from that deal was that Harry _be good_. In return Harry got most of what he wanted, didn’t he? The deal wasn’t so bad. Harry only needed to follow the rules. 

‘ _Don’t be crude. Wear what he tells you. Obey orders. Never push him away. Never stop him from touching you. Don’t call him a liar. Answer his questions._ ’ 

The rustle of fabrics behind him leaves Harry bracing himself for the first push in, hoping that he’s open enough or numbed enough by the cream to make this easy. The brush of a thumb over the ring of muscle makes him tense but he breathes out, letting his body relax.

When nothing but the thumb rubbing happens for ages Harry works up the nerve to ask, “Did you… when I was sleeping… there’s a bite mark and I was wondering if you had me, then.” 

“And if I did?” 

He presses his forehead against a still cool section of the wood and breathes in slowly. “I would really appreciate it if you didn’t do that again, husband, please.” 

"I didn't take you while you were asleep, Harry. I did leave the bite, as I wanted a mark that would not be for public consumption." He shifts and his hand touches the back of Harry's neck, though the angle seems off somehow. "But I've come up with another solution. I may want to try it once, out of curiosity's sake, you understand, but you'll be fully warned ahead of time."

That’s better, even if it isn’t everything.

“Thank you, Marvolo.” _This will be easier if you think of him as Marvolo._

But the moment the thumb presses forward ever so slightly, sinking in to a space still stretched out from the wood Harry wore all night, he can’t beat out the panicky voice that tells him this is _Voldemort_. A pad brushes across his prostate. He smothers a moan. Only for the touch to become more consistent, playing along his nerves until he can’t help but roll his hips into it. 

Then a hand comes down hard on the back of his thigh, stinging the skin, the shock of it making him clench down. “What?” 

“I told you last night: I want to hear you,” Voldemort says calmly, brushing a hand over the spot he smacked before he pulls his other hand out. The emptiness feels even stranger now that the ache is gone, but Harry raises his head up from where he’d bent over to half-hide his face. “It is not a rule but I will, on occasion, encourage you to do so if you choose not to.” 

His face must be bright red and he shifts carefully, never letting go of the wood but still allowing his spine to pop as he stretches and then moves his feet closer together. 

Voldemort’s hands on his thighs, pressing them back open, aren’t a surprise but, again, the angle seems off. … Is the other man sitting on the floor behind him? 

But any thought about that -- any thought at all -- flies out of his head as the buzz of the cleaning spell makes his skin tingle and then an impression of teeth touches the round of his arse. The teeth lock and Voldemort bites hard, Harry fighting not to jerk or show any other reaction. The pain plays sharply over his skin, pinpricks where the other man digs in, and then it’s gone, leaving an ache behind. 

Voldemort casually reaches between Harry’s legs and strokes his cock. The man had said that he’d found a replacement to the bite on the ribs, the one already fully healed by the mint-y smelling cream. This replacement would mean that anytime Harry sits… 

But the mouth moves on after a soft little lick over the bite mark, running down the cleft and to the rim of his hole. He jerks his hips away and gets an immediate stinging hex on his thigh that makes him grunt between closed teeth. 

But he broke a rule, didn’t he? 

This time when the tongue finds his most private place he curls his toes and tightens his knuckle-whitening grip but stays still, letting Voldemort do as he pleases. And what Voldemort pleases is to lick and nip and gently push his tongue into Harry’s hole, playing with it the way he had when putting in the plugs. And the plug has opened Harry up enough to make the presence of a tongue an easy thing. The simplest thing to add a finger or two, filling him up.

How can Voldemort do this? _Why_ would Voldemort do this? It’s… weird. Weird and degrading even to Harry, who’s receiving it. For a man who could have anything, have Harry do anything, why would he want this? 

_He wouldn’t do something for no reason._

Eventually Harry has to stretch over the desk, resting his head and upper chest on the cool dark mahogany, because his legs have gone traitorously weak. It shouldn’t feel this good, the wet tongue and hard finger -- fingers now, pushing in faster and faster as the minutes drag on. Harry locks his knees and moans behind his teeth, rocking into the next press in. 

Voldemort pulls back and kisses the non-bitten cheek. “You are in control of when this ends, Harry. All you need do is ask me to touch you, to stroke your shaft, and I’m certain you’ll orgasm. And then we’ll be done for now.” 

Struggling to make his voice even so he doesn’t sound so bloody turned on, he asks, “What about you?” 

“That’s not what I’m after at the moment. Once you orgasm this is done.” 

His shaky thoughts make it hard to work out why Voldemort would be after Harry asking to be touched at the moment but now he knows what Voldemort wants. He isn’t going to get it. 

“We shall see.” 

And then the attack begins again, harder than before. The two fingers _fuck_ him for a time. Then they’re gone and his husband’s sharp teeth and strong tongue come back to take their place. For a time he simply leaves Harry empty and hard, caught between wanting this to end and wanting the touch back. Harry shivers with need, his cock heavy and pulsing in time with his rapid heart between his legs, his bollocks achy from the denial of touch, and if he could get some friction, any at all, against either he would shoot. And this would end. 

_Or I could ask._

He grits his teeth, his jaw aching, and shakes his head at himself. No. Voldemort wants that but didn’t order that, didn’t say ‘when you want to orgasm, ask me to help you’. That Harry would have obeyed. 

But this was not an order. 

“So stubborn,” Voldemort says with a deep chuckle. “I assure you you’ll bend before I will, little one, but enjoy your struggle. I certainly am.” 

Is this what Voldemort wants? The struggle, not the submission? Harry has no trouble believing the man would lie about his aims. 

To delay the decision, to maybe disturb himself enough to soften, he asks, “Are you going to want me to do this for you?” 

Voldemort hums against Harry’s skin. “Perhaps but I enjoy watching you fight the pleasure far more than I would enjoy ordering you to perform the act. Your struggle against your own wants much more pleasing to me than my simple enjoyment in your submission.” His hand moves up, not stroking Harry’s cock so much as his stomach. “And I expect that struggle to be enjoyable for many, many years to come.” 

Harry bares his teeth. “Even if I follow an order it doesn’t mean anything. When I have the choice I don’t give in to you.” 

“Yet.” Voldemort’s full mouth curves against his pale skin. “But you needn’t worry. If I wished to take that fight out of you you would be in an intensely different circumstance at the moment.” 

“You can’t torture me.” The negotiation gave Harry that much. 

“No, little one. I would have fed you a potion to change your anatomy -- your sex or, if you protested, the more dangerous version that simply adds to your current physique -- and then a potion to ensure fertility before I spent my seed in you multiple times.” Harry goes completely still, muscles locking, as he realises what that would mean. Voldemort could -- Nothing in the negotiations would prevent that. “What would you do to protect our offspring, pet?”

Breathing hurts, trying to take in a true breath aches with the tightness in his chest, so Harry tries to only take shallow breaths. “Anything.” 

“Yes, so I would think. Without any effort at all you would act as if you understand that you do belong to me.” Warm breath blows on Harry’s hole, making him fidget. “But that, I think, can wait.” 

“You plan to do it.” His voice is high, reedy with panic. “You can’t -- I’m not a woman!” 

“No, but you could have the body of one for a time. Or you could take a transformative potion that would allow you to bear my child in this form. Either way, putting a child into you is simply enough and then, of course, the spells to ensure you hurt neither yourself nor the growing life.” 

The implication makes him nauseous. “I wouldn’t hurt --” 

“Not even to ensure I bring no life into the world?” 

It… He can see the temptation in doing exactly that, taking the ‘leverage’, as Voldemort would no doubt think of a baby, off the board entirely. Harry shudders, soft now, as he’d hoped this distraction would cause, and Voldemort’s magic caresses his skin as the man stands up. The body heat sinks into Harry briefly and then moves away. 

“Stand up, hands braced on the desk,” Voldemort orders, a smile slipping onto his face as Harry obeys. “I am willing to give you time to adjust to the idea, pet, so long as you do continue to behave,” that deep voice says softly, a hand reaching out to caress the heat-flushed skin. 

He struggles to make his thoughts small with his mind feeling blown wide and recites: ‘ _Don’t be crude. Wear what he tells you. Obey orders. Never push him away. Never stop him from touching you. Answer his questions. Don’t call him a liar. Practice shielding your thoughts. Accept punishments from him._ ’ 

It’s comforting, understanding the rules between them, and remembering that this is far from a normal situation that he needs rules in the first place. “I don’t want to -- I’m not a woman,” Harry tells his husband firmly. “I’d rather still look like me even if it is more risky.” 

“I’m certain you’ll find a way to be convincing at the time,” Voldemort says quietly, leaning close over Harry’s back as one large, strong hand gropes his bollocks and presses a thumb into his hole. “Hmm, you’ve gone so soft now. How would you like a cage, darling? Then you wouldn’t be tempted by me towards orgasm in the way you were minutes ago.”

That feeling, that helplessness of being so aroused by what Voldemort does that Harry wants so desperately to orgasm fills the younger man. “A c-cage would stop me?” 

“Yes, little one, it should make it far more difficult. Would you like that?”

His skin fills with heat again and Voldemort’s hand stroking over Harry’s shaft makes him whimper. He hates this and squirms without pulling away from the hand touching him. He knows better than to break the rules again. “Y-yes. I want that.” 

“Alright. Stand up straight now.” He does, shivering when Voldemort takes out his wand. A silent spell and Harry can feel it, the sensation of cold metal curling around his groin. 

In moments his soft shaft has hard metal molded over it, heavy but with gaps that let the air brush over the sensitive skin. And then he gasps, panting as he feels the pressure of something pushing into his slit. He reaches down to yank it off and whimpers when his husband slaps him. 

“Sorry,” Harry says, closing his eyes as he understands the pressure. It fills him, shallowly but constantly, keeping his slit locked up.

A ring of metal locks around his bollocks, the tightness pinching and almost painful. He feels a shaft, cold and hard as metal, slip into his opened bum and Harry groans. 

“That’s it,” Voldemort says, reaching down to pick up Harry’s bollocks as the metal ring around the base pushes the little, sensitive orbs out. He groans quietly when the other man slaps them gently. “Very sensitive. That’s nice. Your hole is nicely filled as well. The pressure in your slit is part of a spell. You need not worry about using the toilet in this cage, pet,” _Marvolo_ says warmly, rubbing over Harry’s arsecheeks gently. 

It’s too Muggle, the metal, the cage, too much a toy a non-magical would have, to think of Voldemort wielding it and for the first time since negotiations began it becomes possible to think of the man separately from the monster’s identity. 

“Oh, I’m still a monster, Harry.” Marvolo laughs. “But, yes, this is based off of a Muggle device… with some improvements. The spells to void your piss and bowels, clearly, so that you’ll be kept clean for me to fuck at any time.” Harry’s stomach twists as the man’s voice caresses him, quietly pleased about the position they’re in. “The plug to open you up can also be made to vibrate or fuck you. Or both. The heaviness can be altered, tailored to whether I wish you to be constantly aware of it --” Harry groans as he feels the heaviness grow, the sensation of his bollocks being _stretched_ , and the complete, unbending attention to what holds his cock down to make it soft and small. “ -- or simply bound.” And it becomes light as a feather, the touch constant but not overwhelming. “I might keep you in this indefinitely.” 

Harry shivers harder, struggling not to pull away from the hand casually feeling him. Fingers pinch his nipples and his cock twitches briefly inside the cage. Then the small shaft inside of him begins to pump, fucking into him, and he locks his knees. 

Marvolo chuckles. “Oh, pet, go ahead and kneel down.”

When Harry doesn’t slip to his knees in front of the desk immediately, warm, rough hands push down on his shoulders at the same moment the metal fucks up into him, rubbing his prostate, and he folds. 

With some small prodding he curls his feet up, resting his bum on his heels and stretching his toes against the floor, as he kneels in front of the older man, who rubs a warm thumb over Harry’s dry lips. A spell makes Harry’s chapped lips slick and soft again. 

“There you go,” the other man says, crouching down to kiss Harry’s unresisting mouth. A bite makes everything feels a bit bruised and the sharp pain on his bottom lip sends strange signals to his shaft inside the even stranger metal cage. Marvolo’s hand reaches down to roll Harry’s bollocks in his hand, warm and arousing, but when the shaft tries to fill the pressure makes him pant into Marvolo’s shoulder. “That’s it. Such an obedient boy for me, aren’t you?” 

‘ _Don’t be crude. Wear what he tells you. Obey orders. Never push him away. Never stop him from touching you. Answer his questions. Don’t call him a liar. Practice shielding your thoughts. Accept punishments from him._ ’ 

“I’m trying.” It’s the truth.

Harry will give Vol -- Marvolo a lot of what the man wants if it saves Harry’s friends, the people who’ve stood with him for years. He hasn’t always succeeded at protecting his friends and what they love but he’s always tried. And he’s trying now. 

“Hmm, but things are relatively easy right now.” 

He stares up at the man disbelievingly, catching those dark green eyes before dropping his eyes to the full mouth currently curved up into a soft smile. Kneeling, naked, the weight and pressure constantly part of his awareness of his cock, a bite on his bum that still stings, a lip that stings from teeth, Harry can hardly comprehend that the other man might find this ‘easy’. 

“Relatively.” A thumb digs into his split lip and Harry hisses but does not pull away. “Lovely. I think I’ll make it slightly more difficult so you understand better how easy this truly is.” 

He shudders, squirming, and shakes his head. “You don’t need to. I get it.” 

“Ah, but I don’t think you do, pet.” Marvolo’s fingers shift to Harry’s chin, forcing his head up. The light shines too brightly and he drops his eyes further. But he ignores the stretch of his neck, the uncomfortable, forced position his head is currently held in, as he breathes slowly. 

“What are you going to do to me?” His voice sounds steady but he wants to cry. He should have kept… not silent, he didn’t say anything, but he should have kept his face more polite and less skeptical. It was right there in the rules, wasn’t it? Don’t accuse Marvolo of lying. 

The plug, the metal now warmed by his body heat and shaped, he thinks, like two fingers or a small cock, rocks up into him, pulls nearly out, and rocks in again. “Nothing too trying. Crawl over to my desk and turn around, Harry.”

It’s an order. It’s -- He gasps as the plug rubs right against his prostate, his cock putting pressure on the metal around him to no help, uncomfortable but not unpleasant, when he shifts to his hands and knees. The desk is right there so the whole gesture isn’t far at all, less than a meter. He doesn’t stop until he faces Vo -- Marvolo again. 

The plug moves a little faster, setting off the pleasure again and again, and Harry squirms at the little bolts of need but returns, more or less, to kneeling as the other man sits down at his desk chair. When Marvolo’s robes are opened by one graceful hand, Harry waits for the order to open his mouth. 

Stinging hexes hit him, one after another, swelling his nipples back to the red puffiness of the night before. Then a third one hits and he gasps, biting back on a sound of pain. The next, to the other nipple, makes him whine. Then another. Another. It hurts. Each little sting makes the growing ache worse until a harsher, stronger sting makes him cry out and curl over. 

“Straighten back up.” _Please, no._ Reluctantly Harry does, bracing for the other nipple to be stung. “Good. Now, reach up and pinch your nipple. Roll it in your fingers.” _Oh_. It’s worse, the pain, but that might be because it’s his own touch, his obedience, causing himself this pain. “There, there, you may let go. Now…” 

“Oh!” Harry shouts as his nipples burn suddenly, the pain spiking as metal curves over the nubs and then grows. “Ohohoh.” Like the cage did, but tight, biting, now and bad enough he shoves his hands behind his back and locks them together to stop himself from trying to rip the painful clips off. 

“How does that feel?” 

He sniffles a little. “Hurts.” 

The pain doubles and he whines, curling in again. His nails dig into his hands as he holds on, holds, and slowly he adjusts to the new pain, whimpering slightly but straightening up on his own this time. “Try that again,” Marvolo orders. “Politely.” 

Politely? What does that -- It can only mean one thing, yes? Harry tries, “It hurts, husband,” and shivers when the other man offers an approving smile. The pain lets up slightly and Harry tries not to feel grateful. Marvolo is hurting him, the relief from that hurt isn’t anything to be grateful for. Harry knows that to be true. He knows it. 

“It seems as if you are still trying, even under some stress. Now --” 

“Are you going to keep hurting me until I, I misbehave? To test what it takes?” Harry’s stomach twists. That was a trick the Dursleys did, keeping something up until Harry lost his temper. ”If that’s what you bloody want so you can punish me I’ll just fucking do it.” 

Marvolo tsks. “Don’t be crude.” 

Fucking tsks. “Fuck. You.” 

“I was not, actually, trying to prompt misbehaviour in you, but I suppose I’ve managed anyway. And because I know this has been prompted I’ll be considerate.”

A hand comes down on the back of Harry’s head and he flinches. His chest pounds and he asks, “How are you going to punish me? Marvolo.” 

“I’m not. You’re acting out in fear. Harry --” The hand slides through his hair, pulling his head back and pointing his face up again. This time Voldemort steps into the light, his expression calm for now but complicated somewhere underneath the outer calm. “You won’t be punished for this because you didn’t understand the rules, but the rudeness is not going to be tolerated either. Apologise.” 

The apology falls off of Harry’s lips easily and when his head is released, when Vol -- Marvolo sits back in his chair again, some of the tension slides out of Harry’s body. 

“There, there. It wasn’t the pain that did it, was it? It was the idea that I would set you up to fail. I won’t set you up to fail or misbehave. Sometimes I might set up a physical task where your body will eventually give out but that is not failure, then, is it, when that result is the desired one.” Marvolo lazily dips his wand again and the plug speeds up, growing in size. “Come now, Harry. I am not going to use the spell to loosen your throat this time. You’ll need to learn how to on your own.” 

As his robes part, revealing his hard, large shaft, Harry flashes back to yesterday and his resolution the last time he opened his mouth like this. The other man wants to watch Harry be helpless. He did yesterday. He does today. That helplessness is why he’s not punishing Harry now -- because that’s where the fear comes from, isn’t it? The worry he’ll be made helpless on the one thing he does have control over: how well he behaves. 

So Harry hesitates, keeping his lips pressed together, and Marvolo’s eyebrow goes up with a chuckle. “I see. That’s quite stubborn of you.” 

After a moment Harry runs his cheek over the controlling man’s knee gently, like the pet he’s been called again and again. “Do you want me to suck you, husband?” 

“Are you playing the ingenue then?” He frowns and Marvolo clarifies, “The innocent.” 

“I don’t think I’m playing,” Harry says quietly. “I’ve never done anything before you. And now --” He hisses in a breath when the other man reaches forward to tap one of the clips. “That. In less than a day.” 

“I’d planned to give you some well-deserved rest today but I must admit you were simply too tempting, little one. Now, I am going to do a spell, briefly, that will keep you from biting down.” Harry frowns but the spell happens almost before he can fully swallow the saliva back. He’ll be drooling messily in minutes here. “There you go.” The cock sliding into his mouth feels inevitable. Heavy and salty, filling his open mouth in moments, pressing against the back a blink later. “Relax your throat.” And he tries, gagging twice against the broad head before Marvolo slides himself all the way in and holds himself there when Harry gags again. 

It gets easier. The hand at the back of his head gets a good grip and uses it to move his head a couple of times, causing another gag that he works through, and he sucks in air as best he can when the cock pulls back a few centimeters. 

Then a pinch, a shift on his nipples, and the clips fall off, clinking against the floor. A touch against the puffy nips rolls a wave of pain through him and he shouts, the sound muffled by his husband’s cock. A phantom pinch, magic twisting the swollen skin, and he’s gagging, struggling to pull off. 

The pinch twists hard and Marvolo says, sharply, “Stay!” 

Stay. Stay-stay-stay-stay. He can, he can -- The pinch to the other nipple makes him gag again and now, fully filled, the other man’s bollocks rubbing up against Harry’s chin, he can’t breathe. The cock shifts and he can breathe through his nose but all he can smell is the other man, all he can feel is the cock in his mouth and the pain in his nipples and the toy in his arse and the cage around his own shaft. 

The cock in his mouth rocks out and he gasps. Two stinging hexes light his chest on fire, strong shocks of pain stab through him and he screams around the cockhead still rubbing his tongue. But he stays. 

“Relatively easy, as I said. I could make it even more difficult, pet. Is that what you want?” Harry makes a frantic noise. “No, I didn’t think so. Would you like to go back to sucking my cock, then?” 

“Uh-huh.” He slides his mouth down, ignoring the little gag he gives, and he focuses more on sucking now that the pain in his chest has begun, slowly, to fade. This time a touch -- his own careful touch -- only aches a little and he groans when he massages the nubs slowly. It feels… good now along with the movement of the toy inside of him that reminds him more of fucking the longer it goes on. 

This time he pays more attention to the act as he sucks and licks and swallows, trying to learn the rhythm of it and what makes Marvolo give him quiet little sounds that confirm Harry’s doing it right. The spell stopping his teeth from coming down is stripped after a few minutes and he focuses more on not accidentally using his teeth. Slowly he realises that if he works on the mechanics of the act and doing the best job he can he isn’t thinking very much about anything else. 

Yes, he’s voluntarily giving a blowjob to Voldemort because it seems better than the other options, but he doesn’t need to think about that. Not until the shaft jerks in his hand, unsteadily, hard, and the hand in his hair grips hard again, drawing his head back. The first spurt of heat hits his tongue but the rest splatters against his chin and cheek. 

Marvolo groans and murmurs, “Don’t wipe your face,” as he fights to regain his breathing. 

“What?” 

“I wasn’t unclear. Do not wipe my seed off your face.” Harry licks his lip and tastes the salty release, his cheeks burning as he understands what he must look like. He licks again and Marvolo only smirks. “Most of it isn’t within reach of your mouth. Now, be a good boy and come closer.” Marvolo pats his knee. 

Harry frowns when Marvolo turns the desk chair so that it’s tucked more into the desk. But a spell moves the long drawer, making the bottom higher, and as he eases into a small space he sees it’s expanded a bit. There’s plenty of room for him to sit or kneel here and he sits. The other man’s hand finds his hair again and tugs him closer, between opening legs. A spell or movement darkens the little cubby space some but the way Marvolo takes his limp shaft in hand is easily visible. 

“Open.” 

He wants to protest how soon this is but, then, Marvolo told him about that potion that stimulates arousal and allows recovery so quickly in someone older. Harry wants to be done but he opens obediently.

The shaft presses into his mouth and he sucks gently for a moment. 

“No, little one, stop now. Hold me in your mouth. Don’t move away unless you can’t breathe or you need to ask me a question. Otherwise, keep your mouth around me and relax.” Relax. Keep -- _What the bloody hell does he get out of this?_ “If you think you can stay in this position relatively comfortably hum once.” 

Relatively, again. This time Harry offers the correct answer, humming once, and swallows. He’s… comfortable, more or less, and can rest his cheek against the older man’s thigh without trouble. If not for the fear of biting down if he lets himself drift too much he could even fall asleep like this, from a purely physical position. 

But every time he tries to relax he remembers ‘I have his cock in my mouth’ and a rush of embarrassment rocks through him. A circle of shame: relaxation, the urge to close his mouth, the reminder of what’s in it that stops him, and the shame that he could relax. He’s being used as… he doesn’t even know what. But it’s still all too easy to let himself drift into this, into behaving for the man who owns Harry now.

Somewhere after the twentieth time he realises the metal shaft in his arse moved again. It’s speeding up, a hard thrust and withdrawal, fucking him and clinking quietly against the floor as the end taps the wood every time it pulls out. Harry shifts, sitting more firmly on the shaft, until it can’t pull out and tugs on his rim. 

_Oh. That feels good._

It... A slow, odd pleasure builds that has nothing to do with his cock, which still lays soft inside of the very light metal of the cage, and Harry moans when a small push of intense pleasure slips through him before fading. The next pulse feels even better and fades a bit slower. The strangest thing is the lack of focus, the loss of an immediate sense of touch even when he grips Marvolo’s shin to steady himself. 

The man hums, stroking Harry’s messy, sweaty hair. “Relax, darling. I know it feels good. Here, something to focus on.” 

The stinging hex to his nipples this time drives all of his attention to the painful jolt and leftover ache, his whole concept of sensation stuck in the wave of pain that struck him and the pulse of pleasure following as… His hand comes up to pinch the swollen tip, clinging to the pain, but it only made the next pulse of pleasure bigger and more overwhelming. 

“Please,” he tries to say, but the thick cock holds down his tongue. He sucks slightly. 

The immediate scolding, sharp, “No,” makes his stomach flip. Harry’s face burns but the angelic features only take on the appearance of sympathy. Only the appearance. “I know you didn’t want to orgasm, little one. Isn’t that why you asked for the cage? It seems,” the man says with a sigh, “your needy little hole has much different opinions and it seems cruel to back off now.” 

“Please,” Harry says, pulling off the cock, “I don’t mind. I --” 

“No. I’ve made up my mind. Stopping now wouldn’t change the fact that you’re quite the little cock slut. Or, in this case, toy slut. It’s not as if you can deny that so I’d rather you get your orgasm than pull back and leave you unfulfilled. No doubt you’d spend all day worked up if I did that.” 

Harry’s eyes burn and he presses his forehead against Marvolo’s knee, gasping a little as the pleasure keeps growing. It keeps getting bigger and more and it’s through his whole body now, it feels like, so curling his toes makes his groin tighten and so does taking a breath and whimpering against the older man’s thigh or so does thinking about this. It’s wave after wave after wave of his body feeling full and tight and like he’s made for this, for coming at being fucked, his own cock locked up and pointless. 

He gasps at the thought but it flutters away when Marvolo shifts… the desk, Harry thinks, and a warm, calloused hand begins rubbing Harry’s back, slowly and certainly and then the pleasure breaks. 

One moment his whole body feels like one building wave and the next pleasure crashes over him, stealing his breath, making his whole world a little wobbly as it keeps going and going and going. 

“Was that good?” Marvolo asks and Harry blinks at him for a while, trying to reason out why he’s being asked. His brain feels drugged, making it hard to think. “Well?” 

Gratitude? Is the older man looking for that? Or is this about something else, some stupid game about power? Or -- Fuck it, gratitude can’t be _wrong_. “Yes, thank you, husband.” 

It’s only minutes later, as reality reasserts itself and he feels the hardness of the metal against his leg when he shifts as he’s sitting, that Harry remembers he didn’t want this in the first place. 

Before he can say that Marvolo’s large hands begin to raise Harry up, out from under the desk. “Lunch is soon. Clean yourself up, dearest, and I’ve arranged a visitor after lunch so long as you behave.” 

Stupid fucking angelic looking bastard. Harry stifles a groan, curiosity piqued. “A visitor?” 

“Mmm. I don’t have the time or inclination to arrange for your mudblood to visit her parents but arranging her visit here is trivial. I thought you’d enjoy seeing your friend given how important they are to you.” 

Harry hides his concerns in a smile, wondering whether there’d be some obvious threats laid Hermione’s way to keep Harry’s behaviour in line. But, really, he’s already cooperative because of the threat to them. They don’t need to be here for that. _Maybe he really meant to do something thoughtful to reward me._ That’s hopeful, isn’t it? “Clean up. Get ready for lunch. Got it.” He tests his still wobbly legs and realises that cleaning, and dressing, might be awkward with the cage that -- It didn’t work. But there were probably spells that would. “May I have this off?” He gestures at the metal at his groin.

“Ask me again after lunch, but for now....” The plug part of the cage that so desperately teased Harry had been still for the last few minutes, from his orgasm, he thought, but now the size of that reduces to nearly nothing. Harry fights against a swell of gratitude, reminding himself that, like the pain, Marvolo is the source of the plugs as well. 

With that, he’s dismissed. Marvolo lays a soft kiss on the top of Harry’s head before pulling into the desk again. Paperwork -- the paperwork Harry interrupted, no doubt -- sprawls over the surface of the desk and he blushes to realise Marvolo must have worked on it while Harry himself was under the desk. 

Pushing that thought away Harry focuses on the future and the will-be visit with Hermione. “Marvolo?” 

“Hmm.” 

“S’alright if I find a place to host Hermione?” 

“Yes, of course. Check the east half of this wing. There should be plenty of hosting rooms. Once I have some time I’ll help you make a suite up to your liking. I doubt you know the spells.” 

“The house elves could?” At least he assumes so and so he says as he walks over to the chair with the bath towel on it. 

“They most likely can but I’d like to do that with you and teach you the spells. That way you can alter your own spaces in the future.” 

The casual comment makes Harry bite his lip. The offer, like the visit, is thoughtful, isn’t it? “Oh, thank you then, Marvolo. I reckon I’ll go now.” 

“Be back here at noon.” 

Noon. He can do that. He’ll even be punctual; nothing will threaten his visit with Hermione if he can help it. He sighs. Maybe that’s what Marvolo intends but, if the visit happens, does that really matter?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between what he thinks Voldemort wants and the signals the man's giving out at any moment, Harry has a fairly difficult lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I've decided to include all of 'Day 1' in here. I won't be going through the relationship day-by-day for the most part but I feel it's important to really establish the dynamic that emerges in the first couple of days. 
> 
> Also, I really appreciate comments. I know some people are hesitant to comment on kinky porn but I'd really appreciate feedback and I do, more or less, take requests. That's basically how this story grew wings, via requests from Jade and Rioda.

By the time lunchtime comes around Harry’s nipples still ache and, in the end, he decides on only wearing the light underwear Marvolo provided. Even the gauzy shirt feels slowly torturous and the cage teases in a way he never expected. Knowing that he can’t touch himself makes him think of doing little else but wanking.

It’s a strange feeling, the powerlessness in the part of him capable of bringing so much pleasure locked up and at noon he arrives at Marvolo’s office focused on a single thought. If he can’t stop the pleasure, the way he first tried, then perhaps embracing it might feel better. 

“Come in.” 

Harry steps inside slowly, still appearing reluctant, keeping his thoughts _small_. The food on the desk surprises him. “Er, is there somewhere to eat? You brought me breakfast and now…” 

Marvolo smiles. “There’s a small and larger dining room in the family wing. In the larger house there’s a big, public dining room for hosting dinners. For now I thought something more informal might be more comfortable for you. I see you found your clean underclothing.” 

Trying to smile back, Harry nods, flushing a little. “Yes, s -- husband.” It’s not bad, really, saying ‘husband’ instead of ‘sir’ when, in the end, he means the same thing. “There’s a lot of clothing in the wardrobe. More, I reckon, than I’ve ever owned before. I, um, saw some Muggle clothes?” 

“There may be reasons for you to be in the Muggle world and I’d rather be prepared. Now, come here.” A chair appears not on the other side of the desk from Marvolo but next to him and Harry obediently goes to sit down, gasping a little when it shifts the plug inside of him against his rim. That brings a chuckle. “Hmm, you seem a bit worked up, pet.” 

His flush grows, the warmth spreading over his chest as he fights a squirm. “Iwashopingwecoulddosomething.” 

“Something? Surely you are capable of being more articulate than that, Harry.” A large hand strokes over the length of his spine, Marvolo petting him gently. 

“Um. You could take it off and we could shag.” 

Marvolo’s fingernails trail up the path again, a slight drag of sensation over the silky fabric. The fabric shifts, moving over Harry’s chest as well, and he squirms down on the too small plug inside of him. None of it is enough for him. “I could, I suppose, but that sounds rather boring to me. Perhaps you can make a more interesting request.” 

His bottom lip wobbles. “I don’t know what to ask for, Marvolo.” 

“Again, the ingenue. It is quite a nice look on you. Alright, I’ll lead you in a potential direction, then. Does that sound more agreeable?” He nods and Marvolo’s hand comes back around, fingers pressing up on Harry’s chin. “Look at me. I prefer to see your face as we… discuss this.” He doesn’t meet those dark green eyes for long but he sees the other man’s irises disappear in an expansion of black arousal before their eyeline breaks. _Small._ “There we are. Now, I could bend you over this desk and take you -- while in the cage. Another orgasm such as the one you had this morning hardly sounds trying, does it?” 

“I could do that,” Harry agrees. It’s not what he wants, exactly, but the orgasm did feel smashingly good. 

“Of course you could.” Marvolo’s mouth curves up. “I think I’d enjoy, for a small while, to hear you beg crudely. Demure is my preference but it would be lovely to listen to you beg for me to fill your cock-hungry hole. That is why you’re asking for this now, isn’t it, after all? You’re quite desperate even though you’ve orgasmed three times in the last 12 hours.” 

Harry’s flush grows and his stomach twists, but it’s true that he does want another orgasm. “Yes, husband.” 

Marvolo licks his lips as Harry thinks hard about what the other man might find tempting. He stands unsteadily, his would-be erection pressing against the metal of the cage, and takes advantage of the way the older man moved his desk chair, leaving enough of a gap that Harry can wiggle in and onto Marvolo’s lap. 

Harry makes a little gaspy noise as he feels the hardness in the lap below him, pressing up against his arse cheek. When he tries something new, grinding his hips down to make his husband gasp, it works. Harry bites down a smile as he grinds again and straddles the larger man’s thighs. The cage bumps against Marvolo’s erection, teasing them both. 

_I wish I had a better idea of what to say._

“I wanted to hate this. I never thought we wouldn’t shag. I knew you’d want to, even if you only picked a marriage because there’s loads and loads of ways to bond like that to form a political truce -- there’s dozens of books about it, I reckon. Even if you only fancy women, you’d still pin me down and take me. Open me up. I knew it.

“I was scared, ‘course, but I can handle pain.” Harry looks down at the other man’s chest, the little triangle of skin he can glimpse at the top of the robe, but gentle, graceful fingers press his head up again. “Then you did all of those strange things to me and it felt good. The p-plugging feels brilliant.” This close he can count the eyelashes and he focuses on not allowing their eyes to meet, moving his focus down to the older man’s full lips instead. He must be scarlet now, he can feel the heat in his cheeks, and he licks his own lips. “Please, husband.” The cock against his bum cheeks twitches and Harry takes a deep breath. _Crude._ “I’m a good whore, aren’t I? It’s a good trade. 

“You could take off my clothes and your cage and put me on your cock until I shot all over. Your cock would make me come. I know it would.” 

Marvolo groans, a hand dragging through Harry’s thick hair and tugging. Harry squirms hard, on purpose, feeling the cock grow underneath him. “Mmm, little one, I could do that without removing the cage just as well.” 

Harry’s lip pushed out, daring a pout that he never would have with another adult in his life. “You could but I won’t be good and go up and down on you --” 

“Bounce.” 

“I won’t bounce on your cock if you keep me locked up.” 

“Then I’d punish you.” 

A thrill of fear goes through him and Harry sucks in a harsh breath, any playfulness gone cold. “Please take it off,” he says quietly, laying his forehead against the older man’s collarbone to hide. When a hand, predictably, yanks his hair hard to force his face back into the light, Harry doesn’t try to hide how upset he is. 

He pushes himself off the _Dark Lord_ ’s lap, feeling stupid he even tried in the first place, and strips the bottoms off before awkwardly reaching between his own legs to tug the plug out of him. As a part of the cage it stays pressed close behind his bollocks without fully reaching his hole when he lets go and climbs back on to Marvolo. The heat of the cock underneath him seems impossibly hot when he reaches in, tugging it free of the folds of his husband’s trousers. 

That only leaves -- 

Harry groans quietly as he presses down on the cock, filling himself up a little too quickly, causing more soreness. But it still feels good: the sensation of fullness, the press of hard flesh against his prostate, the tug on the edge of his hole. He ignores it. It doesn’t matter. His own pleasure doesn’t matter. His own cock doesn’t matter. 

He does what Voldemort wants or he’s punished. 

“How do you want me to bounce?” His own voice sounds angry to his ears. 

“Harry...” The other man starts sharply and he shudders. 

“Sorry, sorry.” He rolls his hips carefully, testing how it works, and tries again more carefully. With some effort he pitches his words towards a softer tone. “How do you want me to bounce, husband?” 

“Harry.” Sharper. Harry drags in a harsh breath and tries nuzzling the man’s neck, letting his thoughts go big. _Good pet._ “No.” 

_Yes!_ “What did I do wrong?” Voldemort shifts and Harry whimpers at the feel of the movement moving up into him. He’s sore now. And then the ‘plug’ pushes up behind his bollocks as he shifts to adjust and he remembers. “I t-took out the plug. That’s only for you.” _Fuck_. “Please don’t take Hermione’s visit.” 

“Shift up and get off my lap.” Voldemort’s voice is tight, angry, and Harry sucks in a breath as he struggles to get himself out of this position. Physically it proves harder than getting in, gravity working against him, and in the end the other man lifts him off. The separation feels awful, leaving Harry empty and the other man bobbing obscenely in the air, and then he’s off the lap entirely. 

“Please,” he repeats. “Please punish me in some other way.” This shouldn’t matter. He never expected to see any of his friends this early on. But his chest aches as he stands there, curling his hands into his undershirt and staring down at Voldemort’s feet. 

“It appears as if delaying the visit would certainly be the most impactful punishment I could choose.” 

Struggling to keep his breathing even, Harry bites his lip a little and nods. “But the visit with her doesn’t matter to you,” he guesses, “and other things do. There must be -- No, I reckon that doesn’t matter either. No matter what you want to do to me I’ll let you if you threaten the right thing.” He shivers, cold suddenly in the office. “Do you still want to… have me? If not, I’d like to go back to the bedroom now, please.” 

“You haven’t eaten lunch.” 

His stomach rolls and he swallows harshly. “I’m not hungry, thank you.” 

“And what do you plan to do if I say you may go?” 

Harry blinks heavily, biting away a frown. “Go back to the bedroom.” 

“And then? There’s an entire afternoon before dinner.” 

His shoulder lifts carefully, a soft shrug that doesn’t jostle too much of his body. Even with the small plug and earlier, larger toy Voldemort’s cock stretched too much, too soon. Harry supposes this will fully hurt soon enough from how sore it is now. “You might change your mind about having me, I s’pose. Until then I won’t be loud or get in your way.” 

_I’ll be in my room, making no noise, and pretending I don’t exist._

Harry gags, hard, and lurches towards the rubbish bin before he sicks up noisily. When he pulls back, wiping his mouth, sitting seems easier and aside from a pained wince as the plug pushes hard against his already sore entrance when he drops it is easier. It lets him pull his knees up to his chest, which is nice, and even though he wants to hide his face in those knees he behaves. 

Voldemort keeps prompting him to stop hiding his face. Hiding his face is against the rules. ‘ _Don’t be crude. Wear what he tells you. Obey orders. Never push him away. Never stop him from touching you. Answer his questions. Don’t call him a liar. Practice shielding your thoughts. Accept punishments from him. Don’t hide your face._ ’ 

Voldemort sighs, coming to crouch in front of Harry. _Accept punishments from him. Accept it. Accept._ He braces himself, murmuring “Sorry” softly. He doesn’t expect it will help but he reckons it can’t hurt. 

“Legs down, little one,” the other man tells him quietly and, after a breath, he eases into a crossed leg seat, wincing again at the discomfort. A moment later Voldemort curls his wand and the metal at Harry’s groin slowly disappears. When it’s gone he’s left limp and achy -- not only at his hole but around his bollocks where the ring sat -- and embarrassingly naked. But he follows the last order and keeps his legs down until he’s encouraged to stand and put his pants back on. 

A flicker of annoyance flashes over the other man’s face when he sits again, his own cock still proudly erect, and Harry slips to his knees to take the other man to hand. _I was clean. Voldemort licked there. This isn’t gross. It isn’t._ Rolling his shoulders back, Harry strokes a hand up the firm shaft and bends to take it in his mouth. 

Only to be sprawled back with a harsh shove, leaving his limbs heavy and awkwardly half-laying on the floor. 

“Get. Up.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Be quiet.” With a long, angry blow of breath, Voldemort points to the chair Harry began in and waits until his instruction is followed. “Unless you are planning to learn Legilimency stop attempting to read my thoughts, Harry. You’ve thus far only managed to be abysmally wrong. While I will admit some small responsibility because I should have gathered you would take a playful response as a true statement of my intention to punish you, even if you were attempting some rudimentary sexual flirtation at the time, the larger fault is that you presumed my intent instead of speaking to me. You did that not only once but three times here, in a span of a few minutes.

“That is why I am frustrated with you. I do not intend to punish you, per se, but we will be having a longer, more extensive lesson regarding your tendency to presume I mean something without any developed reasoning.” 

For a long moment Harry struggles with working out the Hermione-like complicated way of speaking (it must be a clever person trait) but he grasps the key bit immediately. “Thank you for not punishing me, Marvolo.” 

Another, less angry sigh made him tense back up but V -- Marvolo simply runs a hand through his own flawlessly curled hair and magically pushes Harry’s chair closer against the desk. “Try to eat if you don’t think it will cause you to become ill again.” 

“Yes, husband.” He can’t summon any hunger for the still piping hot food but he manages a few bites here and there while Marvolo tucks in, neatly and efficiently putting the food away. 

When the other man is done he pushes away his plate and moves Harry’s to the same spot. “In my lap, little one.” 

Harry’s hands clench around the silverware he’s been using to push food around his plate but he puts it down as he stands. “Should I take off my pants again?” 

“Good boy. I much prefer you ask rather than assume. For now, no, I’d like you to come here.” He goes and with a few gentle touches it’s made clear he should be sitting in Marvolo’s lap facing away from the man, his legs tucked under the desk edge. 

When the first forkful of food reaches his lips he shakes his head. He takes the food, first, far too aware of how easy it would be for the large, empty hand rubbing his thigh to reach up and pinch one of his swollen nipples if he pulls away enough to break the rules.

He still mutters, “I’m not hungry,” when he’s swallowed but another forkful soon reaches his lips. Reluctantly he eats and the rumbling of his stomach slowly fades as Marvolo feeds him. Finally, half the food is gone and he turns his mouth away, risking the punishment. “I’m full, thank you.” 

“That was a snack.” 

Harry frowns down at the plate and shrugs. “It’s as much as I usually eat. There was too much food at breakfast too.” A glance at the other man’s face makes his stomach twist uneasily and he weighs the likelihood of sicking up again before he says, “I can eat more.” 

“No, little one. I’d rather you not risk being ill. Alright.” A push of the plate away and it pops off, prompted by spell or house-elf. The papers return and Marvolo, as if he’d forgotten where Harry is, starts to work on them again. 

Harry squirms and a book taps against his hand a moment later. “Read this. I will be asking you about it later. The girl should be here in about an hour.” He perks up at the confirmation the visit with Hermione is still on and takes the book after only a second, opening it to read the title. 

_A Beginner’s Introduction To Runes_

It couldn’t be more boring than Hogwarts’ history books, he reckons.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione comes to visit, as promised, and has a difficult conversation with Harry.

Harry manages to finish the first chapter before Marvolo nudges him off his lap and turns him around. A quick wand wave later his nipples no longer ache, a sensation he never quite stopped noticing while he read, and his arse, which had started to truly hurt over the last hour, stops. All his other little pains go with it. A warm, large hand runs down over his chest and then lower, circling around to explore lightly. When Harry only cants his hips to make the pressure fuller, Marvolo pats over a curve lightly and stands up. 

“Turn around and bend over, little one.” 

With a warm blush Harry does as told, unsurprised when his pants peel down or when Marvolo’s large finger begins a gentle rubbing motion over the tight muscle. He opens Harry up gently, each touch more teasing than aggressive, and as he begins to harden under Marvolo’s attentions a hard plug presses into him. 

Harry groans, muttering, “I thought we’d shag,” into his arm as the pants drag back up and over his arse. 

“I do know you’ve only barely begun learning you enjoy being taken, pet, but given the time your friend should be at the edge of the family wing by now waiting for an escort.” 

His stomach drops, leaving him straightening hastily. The plug shifts without brushing the sensitive bit of nerves inside of him but his cock hardly understands that message. He glances down at it tenting the pants. “Er, is there a way to make it go down quickly?” 

Marvolo’s lips twist up into a smirk. “More than one. Would you prefer the one where you orgasm or the one where you don’t?” 

A twitch in his cock makes his body’s vote clear to Harry but the idea of asking for a hand or a spell to come right before seeing Hermione makes his skin itch. He knows what Marvolo’s vote would be too, of course, but this isn’t an order. Without the order, with the prompt to ask for relief, Harry finds he doesn’t want to give into the other man’s wants. 

“Where I don’t.” 

Marvolo sighs. “Very well.” A slash of that yew wand, a pinch at Harry’s bollocks, and his cock begins to rapidly soften until it sits small at his groin. He gasps when a hand reaches down to grope him and… nothing. He can feel the touch but it’s no different than if he were being touched on the knee or shoulder. Neither his cock or his stomach squirm at the sensation. “There, then. That will last until either I reverse the spell or 48 hours have passed.” 

Harry nods. “Alright. Er, I’m gonna go dress now and get Hermione.” When he hears nothing in return he starts towards the door and he’s almost through it when he realises that the cage wasn’t the solution. Marvolo could have done this spell this morning when he knew that Harry didn’t want the pleasure he was feeling. Cold spirals down his chest, freezing him in motion, and he slowly clenches most of his body. His hands ache with it almost at once. “You could have done this. You knew the cage wouldn’t work, that I’d still come from the toy, and the whole time you could have used this spell.” 

“I could have,” Marvolo agrees, striding towards the door casually. “I suggest you think hard before you speak again,” he says, taking Harry’s balled hands and, one after another, forcing the fingers to open, to unclench. 

As much as he wants to shout, the warning stops him cold. It takes the long drag of a minute, maybe more, before he’s calm enough to only nod sharply. “I’m going to go dress.” 

“And I will go fetch your dear friend.” 

“I’m sure you’ve got better things to be doing,” Harry says quietly. “I’ll do that.” 

“Oh, but what sort of host would I be if I did that?” Marvolo smiles, a bright, lovely smile that hides what a bastard he is behind a face that makes you ache to smile back. It’s easy to see how this man was able to charm so much of the school into believing his act. Only Dumbledore saw through it. A sharp tap to the jaw grabs Harry’s attention immediately and the scolding, “Small, Harry,” makes him grit his teeth. 

“He did see through you, though.”

A dark eyebrow rose haughtily. “No, he saw a young orphan who frightened the head matron with strange happenings caused mostly by accidental magic and that orphan -- I made a mistake in judgment in my excitement to meet someone who was both like me and who did not believe I was mad. I told him of the things I had figured out about magic and, at the end, I mentioned speaking to snakes. And that was it. That was what it took for him to condemn me as irredeemable. If he hadn’t been so hasty to judge perhaps the world would have been a much different place.” A soft touch of lips to the top of his head makes Harry straighten his back but Marvolo only prods him towards the office door. “Go on, then. Dress.” 

It’s an order, the simplicity of it making something unclench deep inside of Harry. ‘Dress’ is a simple command, easy to follow. It doesn’t require him to think about Marvolo’s point of view on that first meeting with Tom Riddle. He almost wishes he could see a copy of it and… maybe he’ll ask, later. 

For now, dressing. He hurries into some more Muggle-like but still clearly wizarding wear -- slacks with buttons, a tunic shirt to go over the nearly see-through undershirt tunic, and open robes. Then he hurries to catch up to Marvolo’s meeting up with Hermione. 

He finds them striding down a hallway towards the cushy suite that he’d picked out for this reunion. Hermione’s worrying her lip, a hand twisting around one frizzy curl as she follows a few steps behind Marvolo. Watching it Harry’s once again struck by the fact that the man’s the _Dark Lord_ , commanding in both his presence and his influence on their new society. 

But then he’s bracing as Hermione spots him and races to launch herself at him full speed. The hug is immediately claustrophobic but he allows her to have it for a long twenty seconds before his hands move from her shoulder blades to her upper arms, gently prying her away with an only partially feigned, “Can’t breathe, Hermione.” 

“Oh!” She backs off a little more, a little less painful in her squeezing, hugs more gently for a moment and finally pulls away. “I’m so sorry. Oh, Harry, I’m so glad to see you. When they told me I’d be coming to visit…” Tears gather in her eyes and she blinks them back, sniffling a little. 

He smiles awkwardly before turning towards Marvolo. “Er, thanks.” 

“And where are you two gathering?” 

He thinks about pointing but it seems simpler to make this easy, unresisting in any way, for the other man. “This way.” And with that he takes Hermione’s hand firmly and leads them both towards a room a few doors down. 

The inside gleams with a cleanliness that means the house-elves must have worked in here, a large sitting room with squishy, leather bound couches and fancy carved furniture. Everything’s blue or black, from the shiny black leather and gleaming black wood to the muted blue carpet and vibrant patterned tapestry on the wall. It’s a fancy space, clearly meant for having guests, and the only already cleaned space for guests that Harry found in this part of the wing.

“Very well, dear.” Marvolo came up behind him, moving his own body in close enough heat sinks into Harry’s robe at his back. A large hand squeezes his shoulder. “You should show her the library a few doors down, once you’ve had tea and some time to visit. I’m certain Ms. Granger would enjoy the breadth of knowledge available in that room.” 

Harry turns his head up, craning slightly to catch the seemingly sincere expression above him. “That sounds good,” he agrees. 

“Very well. I’ll leave you to it.” A kiss brushes lightly against his forehead before Marvolo pulls back. _§’The house-elf you'll wish to call is Lissy. She’ll provide you both with food.’§_ “I’ll see you both at six for dinner. Harry, I want you to at least attempt to eat at tea. You didn’t have enough at lunch.” 

“I’ll eat something.” 

“Good. Until tonight, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione bites her lip, nodding, and then they’re alone together. The door to the sitting room closes and Harry leads her over to a couch. They sit and he takes a deep breath. 

“About tea then.” 

Ϟ

Hermione Granger bites her lip nervously, eyeing her oldest friend with a glint of concern as he rambles about options for tea. It’s rather a lot of options considering none of them are important. How can she care about tea when Harry is _here_ with Vol-Voldemort at his mercy? 

“That sounds good,” she says, not certain what she agreed with because it doesn’t matter. “Harry, how are you?” 

He blinks. “I’m fine. Lissy!” A house-elf, dressed in a neat little toga-like drape of dark green fabric, pops into the room. 

“Master is calling Lissy?” 

“Erm, yes. We’d like a snack -- biscuits, peanut butter ones and chocolate chip -- and some tea, please. Anything herbal.” Harry smiles at the little house-elf, who _appears_ to be healthy and not fearful. Hermione feels more apprehensive than that elf looks, she’ll admit. “Thank you.” 

Lissy beams. “Master is welcome. Lissy will be bringing biscuits and tea for young Master and his guest.” She pops away and, only a few moments later, pops back with biscuits, tea, and a full plate of sliced fruits. “Master is saying the young Master needs to be eating better. Lissy was to be bringing healthy food. Lissy be bringing fruit for you?” She shifts foot to foot, the plate rocking back and forth with the anxious movement

“Fruit’s good,” Harry says quickly. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Lissy.” 

“Young Master’s guest Miss Granger is very welcome!” Lissy thrusts the plate out, handing it to Hermione, and then pops away after a quick, “You be calling Lissy if you are needing anything.” 

After a long moment Hermione settles the tray down on the coffee table, picking up a steaming cup of tea to hold in her hands so she doesn’t fret with her hair any longer. It’s more frazzled than usual from this last week since Harry was dragged away from her to ‘prepare for the wedding’. Seven days, a seeming eternity, even as she listened to the wedding vows (most of them, one or two sentences were in what she fairly assumes to be Parseltongue) on the Wizardry Wireless. 

Hearing his voice resolutely completing his vows, by all appearances brave and healthy and strong, did little to assuage her fears. Even appraising him in person, whole and moving normally, can’t seem to make her nerve-wracked muscles unclench completely. The way that Voldemort touched him, so casually, and ordered him to eat, it feels wrong. She tries again, “How have you been?” 

His smile freezes and his hands clench in his lap before he reaches for a slice of apple, a sharp snap and crunch following as he fills his mouth with the fruit. “M’okay.” Even here, now, he keeps up the brave front, even though he doesn’t need to, not with her. She’s… 

Ashamed. 

Harry wouldn’t be here, now, if not for her. And the Weasleys, especially Ron and the twins, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood… but those are all purebloods who, despite being thought to be blood-traitors in some circles, wouldn’t be in danger unless they rose up against V-Voldemort. And, yes, the chances of the Weasleys rising up in insurrection of the _Dark Lord_ ’s reign would be high in normal circumstances, but they still weren’t under the careful examination she was. 

It isn’t as bad as she feared it would be. There are no lies about ‘stealing magic’. No prejudiced purges of ‘unclean blood’. No concentration camps nor gas chambers. But each and every Muggleborn or Muggle-raised magical under the age of 17 has been gathered up in Hogwarts for the summer, all the way down to a days-old infant from Scotland whose parents are no doubt frenzied over the boy’s disappearance. All save Harry. 

And all of them, save Harry, are being scrutinised for their level of loyalty to their parents and to Albus Dumbledore. 

Hermione supposes she should count herself lucky. She’d been inspected as well but when it became clear she’d do nothing to risk Harry’s well-being under Voldemort’s rule, now that Harry would live, she’d been classified as extremely low risk. She even has her wand back. 

None of this would have been possible without Harry’s sacrifice, though, and she knows exactly that. She lives in safety because he doesn’t. But, worse, she’s relieved at her safety, the safety he bought for her with his freedom. 

Her lower lip trembles and the teacup shakes in her hand, spilling out hot water. She puts it down. "Harry, it's okay if you're not okay. I won't think any less of you. You did a really brave thing here and I wish you hadn't been put in this position. You're my best friend and I want to help you." 

Harry frowns from where he’s finishing his apple slice. His voice sounds strong, certain even, as he says, "I don't need help.” 

If he couldn’t throw off the Imperious Curse she’d wonder -- But, then, there’s a whole world of dark magic she knows nothing about, isn’t there? Perhaps something else has been done to him. The thought reminds her of Voldemort raising up the presence of a library here and she wonders if she can research a way to get Harry out of this position. “Har--” 

“Really, he's been loads nicer than he has to be. I'm not hurt and he's a bit of a nag about me eating. That's a bit mental but everything's fine.” For a long moment Harry trails off, his lips parted as if caught in mid-thought. More hesitantly, he adds, “ ... He's working on a list of rules, you know, to make this easier and he's been pretty clear about what he wants.” He shrugs. “I'm okay."

What does Voldemort want with Harry? 

Obviously his immediate interest is the possession of Harry himself. Whether as a trophy of war or as a symbol of his domination or as a threat, Harry represents the Dark Lord’s aspirations towards complete control on multiple levels. She’s already contemplated much of that. Then there’s the rather horrifying fact that Harry is a carrier for the Dark Lord’s soul, as unintentional as the creation might have been (a bit of knowledge that only she, Harry, and Voldemort have among the living as far as she’s aware). 

Harry’s panicky rage about that piece of knowledge and his realisation, from Professor Dumbledore’s own words about a ‘piece of his magic’ attaching onto Harry, that the headmaster knew about the soul piece had been heartbreaking. That last night before he was taken away, when Harry raged about the headmaster’s betrayal and she sobbed about her lost parents, made her chest ache. For him. For herself. For their lost innocence. 

“Harry... “ His mouth sets in a firm line and she nods. “Alright, what does he want? Maybe I can help you --” 

His face flames up and he shakes his head so hard she can all but hear the snap back and forth. “No! I mean, erm, well, he’s gay. Or at least he likes blokes some.” 

It takes her a moment. Tears sting at her eyes a moment after that. _Oh, Harry!_ They’d wondered, that last night, why Sirius and Remus had been negotiating a marriage bond as per Voldemort’s demand instead of an oath of non-aggression, which were common in other truce pacts between magical leaders. To know that Harry -- that Voldemort --

Her chest aches for him. “Vol-demor --” 

“Call him Marvolo,” Harry tells her quietly. “He prefers it. He made the point it’d be easier for me if I thought of him as Marvolo and not Voldemort. It is.” 

She doesn’t want to make things harder for him so she nods. “Marvolo. That’s his middle name, isn’t it?” He nods and she bobs her head back, reasoning through the best manner to ask her next question carefully. She settles on: “Has he told you what he wants you to do here? You mentioned a list of rules.” 

Red rushes back into his face and he tugs at his collar, revealing the shadow of a purple-gray bruise at the base of his throat. A strangulation marcation and she swallows roughly, tearing her eyes away from it for now. His clothing shifts and the quick glimpse disappears. 

“Er, he wants me to listen to him without being rude or saying crude things. He has things for me to wear and… We’re married, Hermione. He wants to do what married people do. That seems fair and it’s not awful. I… I don’t know if you want to hear about this.” 

“Harry,” she says, leaning forward to take the hand in his lap and squeeze it firmly, “I want to hear whatever you have to say. Anything, everything. Nothing’s off-limits if you need or want to talk about it with me. I’m here for you.” 

A hesitant smile slips onto his face, almost in stages -- his mouth turning up, his teeth showing and then hidden again, his eyes joining the image of pure pleasure -- and then he offers the most genuine smile she’s ever seen on him. Not one tainted with worry or sadness or anger, but a true, happy smile as he nods. “Alright. Thanks, Hermione.” After a minute the smile fades into something more thoughtful. “Um. Well. The sex is pretty brilliant. I think I might… y’know.” 

“You think so?” Her breath comes out tight, shakily, and she licks her lips to wet her suddenly dry mouth. “Did he force you to take something to make this _better_ for him?” That would explain Harry’s forced enjoyment. He never would have wanted this himself.

Harry shakes his head tightly. “No. He offered so I wouldn’t have to feel responsible. Said, if I needed him to, he’d force it on me so I didn’t even feel guilty for taking it. I didn’t want to be drugged so he put it away.” He squeezes her hand again. “Every time I’ve said ‘no’ he’s listened, Hermione. He keeps telling me that all I have to do is ask.” 

A sharp pain, one of a dozen bits of tightness and anguish, releases in her chest, making her all too aware of how hideous it all is. She’s ripping apart at the image of Harry, brave and sacrificing as he is, being stripped down and forced into positions until he begs to be released. 

“Ask? As simple as that?” 

He nods, letting go of her hand to reach for another slice of apple. This one is sweet smelling and the brightest of reds, tempting her into taking a slice of her own. “He insists on me being polite, but it truly is, Hermione. All I have to do is say, ‘Please stop doing that, husband’ and he’s agreed.” Another soft smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. She shoves her own apple slice in her mouth to gag away the terrible comment spitting out onto her tongue. “All he wants is for me to follow my vows. He didn’t insist on using ‘love’, but during the ceremony -- Wait, I should tell you about that.” 

“It was broadcast on the Wizardry Wireless.” 

His eyes go wide, his bright eyes almost overwhelmingly vivid without the glasses she’d so heavily associated with her friend. “I didn’t know that. You heard then. I bound myself to him with magic, blood, promises, and I vowed to honour and obey. I reckon that’s not too different from Muggle vows. Not that I’d say that to Marvolo’s face. He’d have a fit.” 

Hermione lets one bushy eyebrow lift, forcing her face to stay neutral. Well, worried but not panicked. “Harry, what did you say in Parseltongue?” 

He rubs a hand over his face and then runs it through his hair, strands sticking up every direction when he’s done. “I promised to let him protect me. He vowed to see to my protection without restricting my freedom. Well, too much. Sirius got that put in, did you know, so that Marvolo can’t lock me away like a treasure to be protected.” 

“Oh, Harry, that’s great.” She forces sincerity into her voice, stroking the back of his free hand as a moment of reassurance. How much easier will it be to get Harry free of this terrible situation when he isn’t bound to stay through magic! “I suppose it can’t be considered a surprise of any sort that V-- Marvolo would wish to ensure that you obey him and respect his position as… leader of the British magical community. That’s going alright, then? You didn’t tell me what the rules are, exactly.” 

“Be polite. Ask for what I want. Don’t put my nose up at what he’s provided for me, especially since he’s put all this thought into these items he’s gotten for me. This bracelet has monitoring spells for my safety so if I’m hurt or distressed, he said, he’d know and be able to find me.” 

Her stomach turns. Which is worse: that he’s using these spells the way that a parent would monitor a young child or that he’s using them as a means of control to ensure Harry constantly feels the pressure of being watched in some way? 

“That doesn’t bother you?” 

He frowns. “That he’s watching out for me like I’m a little kid? No. No one’s ever done that before. It’s… nice, I reckon, that I know if I get hurt he’ll come fix it. I can always take it off if I was bothered, Hermione. It means he’s taking his vow seriously.” Harry fiddles with the bracelet, a pretty, delicate looking slip of jewelry made of clear green gems cut into squares and a snake clasp. A snake eating its own tail, the ouroboros. How… appropriate for the immortal Dark Lord. 

Coming at this as a point of attack isn’t working for now, so she says, “It’s pretty.” 

“It was for my birthday, not the wedding.” His fingers rub over the stones for a moment before he looks back up. “Snape was wrong. I can do Occlumency alright. It’s hard to keep focused on making my thoughts feel small but it seems to work. Marvolo only picks up on the bigger things and… he’s the one that showed me how. He wants me to practice my Occlumency. It’s one of the rules.” 

She frowns. “Professor Snape, Harry,” she says habitually. Where did Harry learn Occlumency, then, if not from Professor Snape? 

“Not for me. I’m to do NEWTs tutoring here. Good riddance.” Harry shakes his head. “I don’t like that Marvolo wants me to answer any question he asks -- some of my secrets aren’t really mine and I’m not going to betray my mates.” He worries his lip. “But I don’t think he really cares about those things. He asks questions about how I feel. What I’m thinking. Things like that, right?” 

Not going back to Hogwarts? “Everyone’s going to miss you in the autumn if you’re tutoring here.” 

“He said I could have you --” Harry’s mouth twitches up, a small smile pressing across the familiar face. “You could tutor here, too, if you wanted. Might be good, yeah?” He fiddles with his tea, hiding his face again, but she’s seen enough.

From any reasonable perspective she would have expected him to be more… agitated. _She’s_ more upset than he appears and the feeling of unadulterated uneasiness slips into her stomach to stay. "And you’re alright with him treating you like -- ” Dare she say it? “A trophy or a toy, Harry.” Her lip trembles and a breath rattles in her chest before exploding outward: “What he’s making you do, you shouldn't have to! It's unfair of anyone to ask this of you and... I won't. I don't want my freedom allowed because you're permitting his violation of you to-- to --" She starts to push herself up, to move about and do something rather than sit here and pretend she’s fine with stupid bloody tea time. 

"Buy it?" Harry raises a single eyebrow, his expression twisting into something sharper than before. Her legs collapse from under her, forcing her to brace one hand on the leather couch seat as she stumbles in trying to get up to pace. That’s not what she said... But he stares at her with those bright eyes, calmly, and her stomach rebels as he tells her, "If I want to sell my body then shouldn't that be my choice? Not yours. Not Sirius's. Not the Weasleys. None of you own me."

Nauseous, mouth tight to swallow back down her nerves and tense words, she meets his eyes. She swallows again before insisting fiercely, “You’re not a whore!” 

"That’s my choice, not yours." He shakes his head, hands busy putting a bit of sugar into his tea. 

She blinks hard, grabbing his hand from where he’s playing with his tea instead of _looking at her_. He looks up again, expression steady, but he can’t be alright with that! He… she doesn’t want him to buy her freedom. He can’t. She won’t let him. 

"I knew what I was getting into. I knew the price I was willing to pay. I know what I'm willing to do here. Marvolo's been... " He sighs, weaving his other hand through the air in a so-so toggle. "Better than he could have been? Worse than I would have liked? I don’t think he knows what to do with me. It’d be easier on him, almost, if I were fighting.” 

“Easier on him?” Hermione sneers. “Who cares what’s easier on him! I’m worried about _you_ , Harry!” 

“No,” he says quietly. “You feel, I don’t know, guilty? Sad? Awful, somehow. If this were about me you wouldn’t be shouting still. How’s that help me?” He picks up his tea, glancing over at her before he looks away, towards the wall. 

A wave of shame washes over her and she squeezes the hand she holds tightly before releasing it. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You’re quite right, Harry. And I do want to help.” Hermione forces her attention back to the rules. She needs to know the other limitations to getting him free of this place. “Answer questions. Wear what he says, which includes the bracelet that monitors your health and location.” Her heart sinks. “Allow him to protect you. Honour. Obey. Harry, couldn’t you come home? To Hogwarts? If you let him know --” 

“This is my home now, Hermione.” Harry shakes his head. “I know it’s not what we thought would happen but we have to be realistic.” 

Realistic. The word strikes down her argument in her throat. For Harry this is a simple bit of practicality. She swallows down the lump in her throat and nods, determined to be supportive of Harry now. Any current argumentation might be held against her in the Dark Lord’s assessment, of which she has no doubt he intends to do. With all of this, she might be thought difficult or a poor influence on her best friend. That that might mean she wouldn’t be permitted back later brings her back to her first instinct. For now, there’s nothing she can change besides cheering him a bit. 

“Of course, Harry. You’re alright then.” She nods to herself, to him. If he wishes to pretend that things are alright she isn’t going to hurt him by insisting he should be distressed. Instead she drinks a few gulps of her tea and says, “We all wrote. A Death Eater took my letter to you and said you’d be given it shortly.” 

“Oh! Yes, Marvolo told me about them. I haven’t had a chance to read them yet. He only told me after breakfast. Lissy!” The house-elf pops back in and Hermione watches Harry gather the letters -- a small pile of his friends and a much larger pile from the public -- on the table in front of him. 

He’s being allowed letters. She was brought to visit. He isn’t being isolated, which must be a good sign. Isolation would be an easy form of abuse. After the public letters are taken away she fishes out the one from Ron and the twins, handing it over with a smile. But Harry tucks it back in the pile. 

“I can read it once you’ve gone. I want to visit with you. How are you doing?” 

“I’m scared,” she admits quietly, putting down her tea. She takes a biscuit, using the act of reaching over to cover for shifting her body closer to his until their knees touch. “I’m really scared, Harry. For you. For me. For our friends. Mostly for you. I’m rather pleased you’re doing alright as you said.” Her mind flickers back to the moment he told her about the vow, then the bracelet, and she pastes together a realisation slowly. “You like that he means to protect you, don’t you, Harry?” 

His skin flushes as he looks to the side. “You don’t think that’s awful, do you? That I like some of what he does.” 

“No, no, Harry, not awful at all.” If he’s truly determined to do this then she can only hope he’ll enjoy most of it. “It’s alright if you enjoy yourself.” Her stomach turns at the thought but if he feels like an aberration for enjoying the touch of his enemy then she owes him nothing less than reassurance. 

_I shan’t judge him. It’s not fair._

He bites his lip. “Some of it’s pretty brill. Some… I don’t mind, right? And if I do, I say so and he stops. He’s stopped. I didn’t want-- But better that it’s not too awful, yeah. Physically, it’s alright.” 

She bobs her head. “That’s good. That’s really good.” A slow breath hisses out of her before she tries, “I’d like to see the library now,” and watches a smile spread across his face. 

“Yeah, yeah, I can show you that. Um. Lissy can show us that.” He smiles widely as the house-elf pops back into the room to offer instructions. 

She’ll keep all conversation light today. If Harry needs her she’ll be here for him, even if it means biting her tongue about the situation. What Voldemort has taken from her best friend is unacceptable but she is not going to be the excuse to take even more. 

_I’ll be here for him. No matter what._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner is served. Voldemort has Harry for dessert. Harry negotiations for a better understanding of what his husband wants and lets himself give into the pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the big delay (muses can be difficult) the ending of Deflection/Foundation is finally here. Nearly 14K and full of steamy goodness. Thanks to the people who commented on chapter three and I hope everyone enjoys the finale. 
> 
> The series isn't finished but I'm not sure when the next part might come out. Until then, happy reading.

Dinner is served in an almost cozy corner at a small square table with four seats as well as various cabinets, shelves, and a small fireplace tucked off of a hallway branch in the strangely shaped library. Instead of being one room the library has four rooms that they found, though it might have more -- one of the rooms was behind a false wall Harry accidentally opened when picking up a book that seemed off. The almost playful way the library, full of objects and puzzles and toys as well as the more normal books, scrolls, and maps, works makes Harry smile as he pictures his own father playing hide-and-seek here with a friend. 

Even Marvolo’s appearance pressing in on them, reminding him of why he has so few stories of his father, can’t completely steal Harry’s good mood. He’d had an entire afternoon with Hermione and now he has the chance to ask for more than that.

As if she’d heard the thought she shakes her head tightly from behind Marvolo’s graceful entrance. They’d already argued about it a bit earlier, when first exploring the library.

_“I’ve not had the chance to look around. Maybe we can do that before you have to go back to Hogwarts.” His chest aches and he adds, “I’ll ask him if you can go stay with the Weasleys instead. I’m sure they’ll have you.” He knows it’s hard on her. Whatever Marvolo asks in trade for letting Hermione go to the Weasleys is worth it._

_Even as she says, “Don’t ask for anything on my behalf, Harry. Really. I’ll be alright,” he knows he’s going to ask anyway and do whatever he’s told in return for Marvolo’s help._

“Marvolo, I was hoping Hermione could go stay with the Weasleys,” he says quietly, twisting his hands together before he steps forward, taking a larger hand in his. “Please, husband?” 

Marvolo smiles back, bright and soft, an easy smile. “Were you, darling? I thought she might stay here. She is the closest thing you have to a sister and she’s alone. It’s my responsibility, as your husband, to look after her.” 

Her eyes go wide but Harry’s go wider, a smile breaking over his face despite the reminder of Hermione’s removal from her parents ( _You made her alone,_ he thinks, keeping the thought locked down tightly despite his anger). “You’d… What would you want of her?” 

“It doesn’t matter so long as it doesn’t cost you anything,” she says firmly. “Thank you.” 

His stomach goes cold but the smile stays firmly on his face. “It does matter, Hermione.” _He could want you on his cock._ But -- No. He doesn’t believe that. Marvolo wouldn’t do that to him, at least not while Harry keeps behaving. 

“You needn’t fret, girl. There is a magic in close emotional bonds. They tie you, tie your magic, to another person,” he explains, taking a stride up to Harry to stroke his face. “You have one tied to her because you think of her as family. When I chose a marriage bond over all others I agreed to a certain responsibility in providing for you and yours. She’s within that. She’ll stay in the family wing.” A hand brushes through his hair gently and Harry shivers. “It’s not up for debate. Now, dinner.” 

_It should be._ Harry doesn’t say that. Hermione staying is a good thing and, better yet, Marvolo sees it as part of his role as husband to help her. There’s nothing to argue with. But it should still be up for debate, Harry thinks, given how big inviting another person to live with them is. 

The line of Hermione’s mouth agrees with him and Marvolo’s sigh as he looks over makes them both tense. “Girl, I can feel you thinking. You object.” 

“It’s his home too, sir. Thank you for inviting me but Harry should have a say.” 

“What happened to your acceptance regardless of his second thoughts?” He snorts, pushing Harry toward the small square table with two squishy armchairs. Her skin flushes. “If I may call you Hermione, Miss Granger?” Her hair bounces as she nods, trailing them to the table. After some prodding Harry climbs into Marvolo’s lap reluctantly in the squishy chair facing the room. Large, dark blue, with a broad base and squishy, broad arms, the chair fits both of them easily but Harry curls up anyway, forcing himself to remain loose and keep his concern from his face. “Among the rules here is a basic understanding: I am master of this household and head of my family, whether that includes only Harry and our children, or that as well as yourself and his other adopted family. I needn’t ask him because it _is_ my decision, is that understood?” 

“Y-Yes.” 

“Sir.” 

She swallows hard, her throat bobbing. “Yes, sir.” Her hand drags along the utensils in front of her. “Thank you for having me. I do appreciate it.” 

“As I said, it is my responsibility to provide for my spouse and his family.” Marvolo’s hand dips into the fold of his robes before he drops a roll of parchment in front of Harry. “The list you requested.” 

Rules. Harry swallows and makes his mouth turn up into a smile, makes himself turn his head up to show that smile to Marvolo. “Thank you, husband.” The chest behind him is broad and warm, strong, and he leans back into it, ignoring Hermione’s questioning eyes. 

Starters pop onto the table -- a salad on one dish, Devils on Horseback on the other -- and Harry cautiously picks up a fork, bringing the plate nearest to him a bit closer. When Marvolo doesn’t stop him or insist on feeding him Harry lets himself relax and nibble on the food.

“Tuck in, Hermione,” Marvolo says quietly, picking up the cup closest to him. As it comes close it smells strongly of whiskey, or maybe firewhiskey, and Harry breathes out slowly, pushing the cup away. 

_§’Please don’t. Not if you plan to have me later.’§_

“Whyever not?” 

His skin flushes with heat. _’§It reminds me of my uncle. He likes whiskey. I -- If you drink it and take me I’ll smell it on your breath and I...§’_

_’§If he touched you -- §’_

Gorge rises and Harry swallows it down. _’§No… Not like that. But -- Please.§’_

“Lissy.” The house-elf pops in, tugging on an ear and peering up at Marvolo and Harry. “Bring me some tea and… Would wine be better?” Harry shrugs. “Tea and orange juice, then.” 

He bites his lip, twisting in the man’s lap as Lissy pops away, in order to face Marvolo eye-to-eye. “Thanks.” Giving him a small kiss -- the first kiss he did himself, the first kiss they share, his second kiss ever -- makes Harry blush but his husband smiles. 

“Of course. You did well to ask.” The blush burns as he turns back to his salad. _’§So very good for me, little one.§’_

They settle into eating. Marvolo sips at his juice and nibbles but it feels as if he’s mostly supervising Harry’s meal. “I read more of the runes book.” 

“That’s good, darling.” A warm, large hand strokes down his left arm, wrapping around it and his waist easily. “You’ll work on that this summer. Perhaps Hermione might help you until a tutor can be arranged.” 

“Sir, about that. I was wondering. Couldn’t Harry come back to Hogwarts for his NEWTs then? Even if he returns here in the evenings to… be with you.” 

Marvolo’s hand tightens. “He could, but he won’t. I appreciate your interest but Hogwarts is in need of desperate reform and that won’t be completed in the next year or two. Both you and Harry will be afforded the best tutors up for hire in each of your subjects, including Arithmancy for yourself.” 

“That’s very generous. I only thought that Harry would like to be with his friends.” 

“Your core group is welcome here so long as you all agree to take your studies seriously. You needn’t worry so much. I won’t separate Harry from his friends.” 

Hermione’s face flushes red. “What guarantee do we have of that?” 

“They’re necessary for leverage. Isn’t that right, dear one?” 

Harry grits his teeth, glaring at her. It’s not her fault, he knows it’s not her fault that she wants to at least try and bring him home to Hogwarts, for his sake, but he doesn’t need her making Marvolo tense. “Yes. Can we talk about something else?” 

“You’re planning to have kids?” 

“Oh, god, not that.” 

“You’re not looking forward to having children, Harry?” The warning in his tone settles Harry down and he swallows a bite of food to avoid answering. “Yes, of course I plan to have children with my husband.” 

“That’s good then, right, Harry? You’ll have a family of your own. Not that -- Of course you’re my family and I couldn’t love you more as a brother if you’d been born one, but I know you wanted your own family.” 

_Not with him._ He doesn’t say so. He doesn’t mean so. Deep inside he still wants the joy of having a family, even if it is more difficult now. “He wants me to be the mum. I don’t know. I’m not ready to talk about it.” 

“The mum. Magic can do that?” 

“I’ll provide a book for you to explain the theory behind it,” Marvolo says easily. “For now, let’s ease Harry’s worries and move to another subject. I saw during my audit that you’re doing quite well in Arithmancy. Have you considered continuing it past NEWTs levels?” 

“I’m not sure. I don’t know what that would involve exactly, though Professor McGonagall did mention it’s quite useful in the field of spell study. It was one of the options she recommended to me during our career talk.” 

Harry bites his lip, his stomach twisting at the reminder that not even his career talk had been usual, what with the sole focus on becoming an Auror. That meant continuing potions, of course, and he was certain he hadn’t received an O on his OWLs, blocking even that path from him. 

As Marvolo and Hermione begin discussing spell theory and how arithmantic formulas influence spell construction, Harry tunes them out, eating steadily so that he isn’t scolded about his eating habits in front of Hermione. Starters are replaced with the main course as they continue chatting and chatting about things he doesn’t understand.

What did his career talk matter anyway? His future is as consort, a trophy for his husband, after all. Harry’s goals, if he’d had any, wouldn’t matter here and it’s for the best he’d never really thought about what career he wanted. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to be an Auror, that he’d never wanted to be an Auror. He knew he wanted to live through his NEWTs; he wanted to grow up and get married and have a family; and, now he would. 

_Silver lining, there, right? Now I will._

_§’Pet, you’re being quiet.’§_

_§’I don’t know anything about arithmancy, sorry.’§_

“We’re talking of other career choices now. It would seem Hermione has given some thought to this.” Marvolo strokes Harry’s outer thigh softly, who laughs quietly. 

“I don’t have an opinion about it. She’ll be good at anything she sets her mind to. Hermione’s clever like that.”

“And what do you want to do?”

Harry turns his body at the shoulders, tilting up a smiling face to stare down Marvolo eye-to-eye. “What I want doesn’t matter, husband.” 

“I’m asking what you want to do with your life so that I might help you manage it.” 

In the back of his mind he can hear Aunt Petunia gossiping about how Mr. Number Seven got his mistress a boutique to keep her busy and Harry drops his eyes. “I don’t need you to hand --” _Behave. He wants you to behave._ “I don’t know what I want to do yet. Sorry.” 

“You have time to figure it out,” Marvolo says easily. 

“Mmhmm.” Harry takes another bite of his meat pie and frowns. The crust isn’t right. He’ll see if the house-elf will let him -- No, Marvolo might -- It’s a house-elf’s job, after all, isn’t it? Marvolo wouldn’t want to see Harry doing it. “Have you got your OWL results yet, Hermione?” 

“I have them,” Marvolo tells them both“I will search up yours after dinner, Hermione, if you’d like. I have yours as well, Harry.” 

“Brill.” 

“Oh, yes, I’d like to see how I did, sir.” Hermione smiles brittly. “Harry, are you okay?” 

He nods. “Yeah, ‘course. You know I haven’t got an idea of what I want to do after NEWTs.” He forces a smile. “But you two should talk about what you want to do if you’re going to be here with me sharing tutors. Having tutors help you reach your goals will be good, won’t it? They’ll be able to teach you more without having to slow down for other people.” 

“The tutors will be there for you.” 

Harry laughs. “I’m only going to understand the basics anyway. She’ll get a lot more out of it than I will.”

“Harry, you’re clever. You don’t give yourself enough credit.” Hermione’s self-serious frown makes him feel a little bad for laughing but he knows his limits. He’s good at Defence... that he’ll never need again, because Marvolo’s hardly going to risk his horcrux, and not much else. 

“I promise I’ll do my best in my studies, Hermione. I’m sure it’s in his rules somewhere.” He taps the parchment before going back to the main course. “You should go back to talking. I’m fine listening.” 

But they don’t, the conversation cut quiet for tonight. The meal ends an indeterminable amount of time later with treacle tart for afters. §’Did you know those are my favourite?’§

§’Yes, I’d been told.’§

“Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome, lovely. I have more work to do so why don’t you allow Lissy to lead you to Miss Granger’s room? You two can spend the next hour or two decorating with her help.” Marvolo’s hand nudges him out of the man’s lap, playing along with spine absently as he stands. “I’ve had her set aside a room for you to decorate as your own as well. Somewhere to socialise with your friends.”

A playroom. Harry chokes back the laughter. “Thanks. That’s thoughtful. Um, see you tonight.” 

“Until tonight.” The air comes back as soon as he’s alone with Hermione again and he gasps in a breath or two, sighing to himself as he collapses back into the armchair. 

“Harry, what was that about?”

He frowns. “He wants me out of his hair. If he gives me a playroom he figures I’ll stay out of the way.” 

She frowns back harder, an edge of worry breaking across her face slowly. “No, not that. You act like you don’t care about your future.”

With a bright laugh Harry shakes his head, only to realise when she doesn’t laugh along that she’s serious. “Hermione, I haven’t got a future. I mean, I do. I’ll live, which is better than either of us thought I’d get by my last birthday. But my future is… Being his consort. And raising his children, I guess, if he decides he needs those as leverage or that they’ll look good to regular people looking to him to rule. I’m sure he’ll hand me something to do if he thinks I’m not keeping myself busy enough. A hobby. 

“It’ll never be more than that. And it won’t involve any Defence, even though I am good at that. I’m good at Defence. But to use Defence you have to be at risk and you think he’ll let me risk myself for anything?” Harry shakes his head. “Don’t be naïve. I reckon I could teach. I could teach Defence if I keep at it. Or I could do charity like, like Princess Di. She does loads of good by going places and getting press to talk about it. I could do that. They’ll talk about me either way.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters.”

“No, it doesn’t. What matters is that you -- you and Ron and Luna and Neville and the twins and Susan Bones and all that -- you all have futures now and those futures don’t involve a war. That matters.” His lip wobbles. “Okay? You want to make this worth it? Have a future. That’s what I want.” 

“Alright, Harry.” Her arms come up around him quickly, her body stretching up before he scoots over so that she can climb in the chair with him. “I wish he -- I’ll be here for you if you need to talk about anything. Anything, alright?” 

“Alright.” He snuggles in for a long minute before reluctantly pulling back. “Let’s go decorate your room before he calls me to the bedroom.” She makes a face. “There’s nothing to be done for it, Hermione. He’s not really hurting me. He’s been really careful about that, even when he wants to see me helpless or is enjoying my embarrassment.” 

She hops down. “I still don’t have to like it. You shouldn’t have to do this.” 

_I shouldn’t have grown up as a lamb to slaughter, either._ “I’m not asking you to like it. But this is my job. Or part of it. I’m his. The trade’s worth it.” 

With a sigh, she nods slowly and takes his hand. “Lissy?” The house-elf pops in and she smiles brightly. “Could you take me to my new room please? Vol -- Marvolo said I could decorate it?” 

“Master is saying that, yes, and that Lissy is to be helping you. Lissy is pleased to be helping you and young Master with the rooms. Miss Hermione’s room is being this way.” 

Harry forces a smile on his face. “Lead the way. We’ve only got a couple of hours before bedtime. Let’s make the most of it.” He leaves the rules on the table. He’ll come back to them. For now, he wants to have a good evening with his best friend. 

_With my sister._

Ϟ

The night ends too soon when Marvolo calls him to bed and, with one last sympathetic look, Hermione lets Harry leave. He hopes she’ll sleep. The idea of her only a few doors away makes his stomach squirmy as he steps inside the master bedroom. 

“The room has soundproofing, right?” 

Marvolo smiles and, with a flick of his wand, the room buzzes for a moment. “I assure you she will hear nothing from us. Did you have a good evening?” 

“Yes. Thank you.” Harry bites his lip, stripping off his outer robe first and then the strange long tunic meant to be worn under the robe given how they were hung in his wardrobe. He wears a blue-green under-tunic and loose, gauzy pants, as ordered, and clutches the list of rules in his hand before putting it down on the vanity. “And thank you for letting her stay, husband.”

“The company is good for you. Come, I wish to take a bath.” Marvolo’s hand skims over Harry’s chin before the man disappears into the bathroom, his full robe dropped on the floor of the doorway. 

He picks up the robe, folding it, placing it in the hamper for laundry, before following on toward the bath. More clothes dot the floor and he picks them up too, gaining a raised eyebrow from his husband. “It’s polite.” 

“It’s unnecessary. Come.” 

Shoving the dirty clothes onto an empty shelf nearby, Harry strips silently, putting his own clothes in the small pile. Hermione’s worried frown flashes across his thoughts but -- She doesn’t understand. She would have told Harry to fight the marriage, to flee the country, the same way Sirius had at first, but Harry saw the truth: Voldemort never would have stopped coming for him. And trying to keep him away would only have driven him to attack the people Harry cares about, using them as bait or revenge. Better to negotiate now than surrender later. 

Better to be here like this, now, with some level of kindness.

By the time Harry follows Marvolo into the bath he’s already set a dozen large candles aflame and made the witchlight in the corners soft, gleaming against the water now pouring like a waterfall out of the spigot. Steam billows up first, then a cooling air blows across the water’s surface and Marvolo steps into it -- onto a ledge? 

“You must have noticed it has the depth of a small pool before?” He nods and Marvolo continues, “This side has a slope that allows one to sit at different depths in the water once it reaches the edge. Here.” He points to a small raised rim on the edge made of gleaming black stones. “This has runes etched into it to activate a Vanishing Spell to ensure the water will not overflow. I lowered the level when I came in so that I might show you further complexities.” 

And for the next few minutes Marvolo… lectures, is the only word that Harry has to describe his tone and the way he holds himself, even though he’s completely naked. He takes Harry’s new, very basic understanding of runic spells and shows how it can be made practical. And he keeps going until the water covers each of the shiny, polished round stones of all sorts of minerals, and the bath turns off. 

Marvolo slips into the large bath and holds a hand out for Harry to join him, tugging him down the slope and into the bath up to his knees before he’s told to sit. “ _Accio_ Harry’s wand.” The holly wood smacks into Marvolo’s hand a moment later before he holds it out for Harry to take. “You shouldn’t simply leave this lying around, even in your own home. You’re safe here but it’s still better to have your wand at hand. Now, repeat after me.” 

Harry does. He repeats it three times before his pronunciation is declared good enough. Then he’s shown the movement, which takes another few tries. Finally, he’s told to try it on himself. A moment later the internal pinch and slight burn tells him that the spell worked. The spell to void… He takes a deep breath and puts the wand down. He does need to know this for his new life. 

“Very good, little one,” Marvolo says, running a hand over Harry’s back. Another pinch and sensation rushes back into him, all his nerves painfully aware and sensitive -- to the heat, to the hand on his back, to the quickly learned reality that being naked with Marvolo means orgasm. Pleasure, long absent this afternoon, rushes back into him, reminding him of the plug keeping his hole stretched and the man responsible for that. “You’ll do that twice a day, yes?” 

“Yes, husband.” Harry squirms, sinking further into the steamy water. When his chest dips into the water he hisses, looking down. “Oh, wow.” His nipples are…

Marvolo licks his lips, reaching up to tug on one of the swollen nubs. A single touch and Harry’s breath hitches, a low, pained moan following. “The spell that removes arousal must have muted other sensation as well. Interesting. I don’t think you could have tolerated dinner otherwise.” He whimpers as the flick of a finger sends shocks of pain through his nipple. 

“Please.” A gentle touch forces his muscles to lock so that he doesn’t pull away. _Against the rules. Stay, stay._ “Please, don’t.” Harry can’t breathe at the thought that Marvolo might keep on and he shudders painfully when an elegant hand reaches for his chest again. 

“Are you scared then, pet?” 

Harry looks up quickly, trying to gauge what’s behind Marvolo’s inscrutable expression. “Yes! My chest is swollen and blue with bruising from your stinging hexes. Yes, I’m scared. Is that what you need to hear?” 

“Need? No. But I won’t pretend I’m not highly aroused by the idea that I could make you cry from a small touch.” Marvolo sighs quietly. “I’ll heal them.” 

He can’t breathe. His air comes in, quick and shallow, and then not at all, his chest still jumping quickly to his pounding heart. Marvolo’s fingers trail up, over Harry’s ribs and to the much-abused nipples. He can’t slow his heartbeat. Is this going to come back on him later because he convinced Marvolo not to do something the man clearly wanted to do? Will it be worse? 

He bites back the urge to insist it’s fine, that Marvolo can do it if he wants. Harry doesn’t think he can stand having his nipples touched right now, but he wants Marvolo _angry_ at him even less. “Are you angry?” 

“No. A bit disappointed, but…” Marvolo waves his hand dismissively and does the healing spell, the relief so immediate that Harry’s knees threaten to go out from under him. 

“Thank you.” When hands rub his shoulders he flinches. “Sorry. You just -- You didn’t have to play with me like that.” _Shut up, shut up, Harry, you got off easy._ “Nevermind. I’m --” 

“I’m aware I didn’t have to but I wished to see what you would do.” Marvolo runs a hand over Harry’s hair, slicking back the messy strands with warm water. “Your nipples should be healed now.” Even the movement down makes Harry tense but he doesn’t pull away while the other man touches him to prove it. “See, pet?”

 _Fuck you._ Harry nods slowly, keeping his voice even and uninterested as he fixes his eyes on the dark blue tiled wall across the small room. “Yes, husband.” _I can do this._

“I see.” 

‘Don’t be crude. Be respectful. Allow all touch, answer all questions, accept all punishments. Practice shielding. Don’t call him a liar or hide your face. Obey orders.’ “I shouldn’t have asked that,” he admits. “You have every right --” His mouth closes. That’s the end of the thought, isn’t it? 

But Marvolo’s eyebrows go up. “Yes?” He’s still playing with Harry, who swallows slowly.

“I do understand what I agreed to, okay?” Clenched fists loosen and he kicks over to the slope, stretching his body out on the carved tile to curl up against Marvolo’s. “All you asked is that I behave, that I obey you, and I’m trying. It’s hard.” He shivers, remembering how his nipples got so swollen and bruised to start with. “I know you said you’ve been easy on me and I believe you, you don’t need to repeat that lesson again. I didn’t mean it like that.” He presses his forehead against the other man’s shoulder. “Please, husband.” 

Bile rises up, bitter and angry, but Harry can’t let himself feel it as he struggles to protect himself. He needs to be believed here. Hands come up, stroking his hair gently and he leans into the touch to be good. It feels good, but the good touches never last long enough.

“I believe that lesson sunk in, but I do still owe you one about your tendency to make assumptions about what I want or do not want from you.”

He shudders hard but nods. “Yeah, reckon so.” 

“Now, now. This need not be difficult. Go, gather a washcloth and soap.” Marvolo points over to a small nook of supplies at the far end of the pool, his own, larger body stretching out at the shallow end of the slope. “When you return, you may start with my feet.”

Harry flushes, but collects the items quickly, lathering one of the dark green clothes stacked next to the tub. “You want me to… wash you? Or something else?” _Don’t assume._

“Yes, begin by washing my feet.” 

He does, enjoying the spell-based constant heat of the water to relax in as he soaps up and washes off his husband’s pale feet. There’s little hair, all of it pitch black, on the older man’s legs as Harry’s ordered to wash them as well. Then the hips, bum, abs and arms, and chest. He pays special attention to his husband’s groin, carefully rubbing the soapy cloth over the man’s hard shaft and hairy balls. When Marvolo groans Harry takes some pleasure in the teasing, moving away from the shaft immediately to wash the next area. Marvolo doesn’t order him back.

It doesn’t take long for Harry to finish, moving on without hesitation to washing the silky black hair beneath his touch. It feels nice to do this. Useful, yes, but also: it’s simple and straightforward. The orders stay so easy to follow that he can relax his worries about doing it wrong. 

Marvolo notices, of course. “You enjoyed that.” 

“I liked how easy it was. And you weren’t hurting me to make a point. That was nice.” Harry offers a small smile before lowering his eyes. 

“And you did a very good job.” 

The smile grows a little as he blushes at the praise, proving once again that he does want to be good. The praise is nice. Not being hurt is better, of course, but knowing someone that matters -- even if Harry would rather they didn’t matter -- approves of his behaviour makes something warm inside of him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, little one.” Marvolo leans back on his elbows on the slope, raising his chest out of the water. “Come here. I want to kiss you.” 

“Oh.” Harry eases closer, kneeling up on the slope himself and leaning over without touching. A hand brushes through his hair, making a grip on the back of his head that’s used to slowly bring his mouth closer. And then they touch. Lips on lips, a tongue teasing open his mouth to lick at the inside, and Harry shivers as he’s pushed backwards and then down on his back. The kiss heats up, deeper and longer, making him pant and squirm as his mouth feels owned. 

Then it breaks and he pants, dropping his head back into the thin layer of water at the most shallow part of the tub. Marvolo leans over him, smiling, and Harry’s skin flushes. “Good boy. That was very good for me. Now, I’m going to go sit on the ledge next to the slope.” He does, most of his body disappearing from Harry’s line of sight to dip under the water or past the edge of the tub that he can see. “Come over here to my lap. Straddle me.” 

“Yes, husband.” He settles his knees down on the tiled ledge, maybe 20 centimetres wide. The tub really is like a Muggle jacuzzi. Not that Harry’s ever been in one but he’s seen pictures and clips of them from movies. They have ‘seats’ and could have sloped sides and they’re steamy warm like this. Straddling Marvolo’s lap Harry can feel the hard shaft underneath him, pressed against his own shaft as it hardens in response. 

“Feeling good, little one?” He nods slightly. “I can make you feel even better.” A hand reaches between them to stroke him and he moans. “There’s a spell I’d like to do, Harry, and if you allow it I’ll reward you for being good.” 

Harry pulls back to look Marvolo in the face. “Will it hurt?” 

“Not at all, pet, but it might feel strange. You’ve come now from both your cock and your prostate. I’d say that the latter was more pleasurable for you.” 

He frowns. “It lasted longer. You -- You said you wanted to lock me up longer when you put me in the cage this morning.” 

“Yes, but I’d like to do it with a spell. You’d lose the ability to become erect. While touch on your cock would still feel very good -- better, as you should be more sensitive -- you won’t be able to come without penetration. Otherwise, there is another spell I can apply that will stop you from coming without my express permission.” A hand gently strokes his face and Harry closes his eyes, leaning into it. 

“What’s the point?” 

“Over time it will teach you to only reach orgasm with penetration and then I’ll be able to release the spell. Please understand that this isn’t about making you more womanly.” 

“No, you want to train my body to only come when you have me. That makes me rely on you. Great way to control me, isn’t it?” Harry snorts. “Fine, Marvolo. However you think’s best.” 

“Such a good boy for me,” Marvolo praises. “Up, on the edge of the tub.” A spell warms Harry’s skin as he’s boosted out of the water but he still shivers at the hand on the inside of his thigh. “Spread these for me. That’s it.” 

The wet heat licking and sucking at his shaft in the next moment makes him gasp and moan, rocking his hips up as his shaft hardens in moments. “Oh, oh. Maar-vo-lo. Oh, fff--” 

He feels a smile against his thigh. “Good boy. So polite. Put your hands behind your back, little one, and lock them together. Once you’ve done -- There we go. So very obedient during your reward.” 

“It seems, uh, an awfully mean reward showing me what I won’t have anymore,” Harry points out. 

“I can reserve this for future rewards as well.” 

A long lick up his shaft jerks at his hips and he groans, clenching his hands together. “Oh, yes. Please.” 

A slower lick feels even better, lighting up every nerve, and he whimpers as a hot, hard suction starts up, bobbing up and down on his shaft to the same rhythm that his hips roll. They move in tandem, a call-and-response sensation, and he can imagine what Marvolo feels from doing this, the way that Harry did last night and this morning. 

“Oh, pet, I enjoy doing this a fair bit more than you do. How can I not when you whimper and moan for me in such lovely ways?” Marvolo smiles up at him before moving back to suck, up and down, up and down, faster and slower. 

Harry whines. “More. More. Please.”

“Such pretty pleas. Lay back.” He does, laying back on the arms clasped behind him too. Hands come to his hips, holding them down, and the suction moves faster now. Harry struggles, trying to buck up, but the hands push down-down-down, controlling his thrusts and rolling him back on the end of the plug. “Hmm, of course, darling.” 

A flick of a hand and the plug grows, pressing on the bundle of nerves inside of him that makes his entire body tingle. He rocks back again, forcing the plug to move, and moans, “More.” 

Marvolo chuckles. “So unreserved in your search for pleasure, aren’t you?” 

“Fighting it didn’t help. It didn’t stop you. You made me come to show you could even if I didn’t want to come,” Harry spits out. A hand squeezing his bollocks shuts him up at the new sensation. _Everything_ is so sensitive like this. 

“I did. Your pleasure, or lack thereof, is under my command. As are you.” 

A brittle smile forces itself onto Harry’s face. “So I might as well enjoy it. This feels really good. I see why blokes at school are so obsessed over it.” 

Marvolo snorts. “I think I have a fair bit more skill at this than a school girl.” To prove it he does a trick with his tongue twisting over the head of Harry’s cock that makes his whole shaft pulse. “As you see.” 

“Stop congratulating yourself and let me come.” 

The sharp pinch on the inside of his thigh doesn’t surprise him. How good it feels, how much it makes his cock pulse a little bit harder, surprises him. The pinch is a gentle punishment for ordering Marvolo around. And it makes Harry moan right before the sucking speeds up, stronger and more purposeful than before. The pleasure builds, pulsing into his groin and pooling in his bollocks, inevitable now. 

“Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.” 

Marvolo pushes Harry’s hips down against the tile and the tension breaks, his shaft throbbing in the other man’s mouth. The heat pulls away with another long lick and the flick of a tongue over his slit, making Harry gasp, and then it’s gone. “Good boy. Settle now. I’ll clean you up.” 

He pants, unsure what he should do with his hands. They’re pressed against the now warm tile by his body where they’re locked behind his back, and he decides to leave them there for now, following the last order he was given. He lets his eyes close and flexes his toes when a soapy washcloth starts at his feet. It tickles and he kicks out a little, getting a gentle slap to his sole in return. 

“Settle, pet.” 

“Tickles.” The pressure on the other foot is firmer, less ticklish, and Harry lets himself enjoy the sensation. No one’s helped him wash since he was too little to do it himself. Marvolo doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, either to finish the wash or move on to shagging. “You do that… What do you get out of this? Earlier today, you said you would have dismissed me if I’d given in to the orgasm.” 

“I would have.” 

“Without coming yourself?” 

“Mmm.” The warm, soft cloth moves up his calves, one after the other, and then his shins and, oh, behind his knee tickles too. “Orgasm is pleasant, of course, but not always my end goal. What do you think my goal was this morning?” 

“Dun know.” But he thinks about it because he was asked. “For me to… give in? Or, I don’t know, trust you to make me feel good?” 

“That’s part of it. Bend your knees for me.” He does, pulling his legs out of the water too, and the washcloth moves onto his thighs. “What else?” 

“You said I was in control. But I wasn’t.” 

Marvolo tsks. “But you were. If you’d asked to come I would have dismissed you afterward. It was your choice to fight.”

Harry shivers. “Yeah? And what would you have done if I’d fought last night?” 

That gets a chuckle. “Secured your ankles so you couldn’t kick. Once you were secured from injuring either of us I would have tried convincing you that pleasure was the easier way.” 

“But you still would have taken me. Because I said ‘yes’ to the marriage.” 

“Eventually. Perhaps not last night but I would have spent that time explaining precisely how hard the hard way would be.” Marvolo pets his thigh and stomach lightly, kneeling up on the ledge in the water to settle partially above Harry, between his spread thighs. “You’ve kept your arms behind your back.” 

That’s starting to ache now and he says, quietly, “You told me to. That was the last --” His lower lip shakes a bit and he bites it down before adding, “I’m being good.” It’s not protection against being hurt, exactly, but being bad is a good way to guarantee punishment. “I don’t want to fight, okay? I don’t want you to hurt me and I don’t want to fight.” He looks down, tries meeting the other man's eyes but ends up looking away after a moment. He doesn't want to see the other man's eyes change. "Marvolo, I don't want to fight but I will if you keep pushing me."

_Interesting._

"You keep playing with me. What will he do if I do this, how will he respond to that? I'm not a toy." He rolls his shoulders, the strain obvious beyond his tired expression, but keeps his hands behind his back. 

The boy's right, of course. Marvolo has been pushing him to judge his responses and, through it all, Harry's at least attempted to be good even when he fell short of the goal. "You can relax your arms now." The hush of relief, followed by the smallest whimper as he rolls his shoulders and brings his arms in front of him, sends a buzz of arousal through Marvolo. He tugs gently at one of the healed nipples, unsurprised when Harry tenses given the bruises from this morning and how far Marvolo had taken it before. It would take a large gesture to gain some trust there now. "Good boy." 

Even that small praise makes his young consort's shoulders straighten slightly. Had no one praised the teenager before now? "I'm not a toy," he repeats quietly, glancing at Marvolo's eyes and then away. 

No, Harry can't be treated like a toy if Marvolo doesn't want to break him. "Alright, little one. You belong to me." That gets the smallest of nods and satisfaction spreads through him at the confirmation. "But I'll endeavor not to treat you as a toy."

"Okay. Good. Thank you." Harry bites his lip, bruising it further. "I'd like to sit up now. Please." 

"Go ahead." Marvolo pushes up on his knees on the ledge, dipping the washcloth in the water and soaping it up again to run it up Harry's body. "I know you're doing your best, pet, and that I haven't made it easy for you. I'm not an easy man to live with." That was an understatement, he knew, but he'd do his best to shield his consort from his blacker moods. He'd been in a good mood since the bonding ceremony, the 'wedding' as Harry called it, and even then he'd caused more harm than he should have for someone he wanted to keep. 

_It’s been so very long since I’ve wanted to keep someone._

“I didn’t expect you to be. Easy.” Harry lowers his eyes -- so demure, so respectful, his little one -- and takes the washcloth slowly, rubbing it over the back of his neck. “Or kind. Or careful. I don’t know why I’m being so… when I know you’re being much better than you have to within the vows. I’m trying to be good.” His shielding fails, again, and Marvolo hears the litany of rules in recitation again. 

‘Don’t be crude. Be respectful. Allow all touch, answer all questions, accept all punishments. Practice shielding. Don’t call him a liar or hide your face. Obey orders.’ Every repetition sounded more emotionally muted than the last. 

Keeping a person without dehumanising or breaking them takes work. He’d known that before proposing a political marriage. 

"I'm sorry I bruised your chest so thoroughly." 

"It's fine. The spell that took my arousal kept it from hurting, kept everything from hurting, and then you healed them." He purses his lips. "The bite on my... It hurts again now. I'd like that healed?"

"I’ll teach you the spell." Marvolo nods at the holly wand sitting not far from the bath. 

A surprised flit of a smile lights up the boy's features, drawing Marvolo’s attention to the charisma his little ‘trophy’ holds so naturally. Harnessed correctly that charisma could be killer, motivating others as a leader and making Marvolo's goals easier to achieve in the process. He need only convince his consort to work towards those goals. 

Being so open to other people's thoughts made those people easy to manipulate, as Marvolo had found out as a boy, but his ability sometimes became a double-edged weapon. Experiencing the terror of a Death Eater who'd failed at a task was always unpleasant and his consort’s overall resignation to the situation broadcast clearly. The resignation is not attractive but is also not his new spouse’s fault. Pleasure in his new role would need to be fostered. 

For the next few minutes Marvolo focuses on teaching a basic bruise healing spell, Harry following along gamely until he catches on and receives more blush-raising praise. In many ways Harry is a mirror who will reflect back what’s done to him, shutting down to basic, reluctant obedience when pushed too hard and cooperating fully when shown even the smallest kindness. 

_Kindness is the key to training him._ Marvolo smiles to himself, patting Harry non-sexually on the thigh. “I’m going to do the spell now, pet.” He nods quickly, bracing himself for a discomfort that doesn’t come. A flash of blue light flares up as the spell takes. “See, I told you it wouldn’t hurt.” 

“You did.” And, there, Harry presses his leg up into the hand on it the same way he had with all other casual touches over the last two days. _Touch-starved. Orphans can be that way, I suppose._ The image of a small boy trying to climb into a young Marvolo’s lap at Wool’s distracts him and he snorts. The other orphans had quickly learned he had no longing for human touch, happy enough alone or with his snakes instead, but he could make an exception for his consort. “Come here, little one. In my lap.” 

_I’ll curb him of some of the fear by allowing him to enjoy the benefits of intimacy without so much pressure._ The patience of it grates on him but Harry’s careful, uneasy glances up remind him of the need for this. _Yes, I toyed with him too much._

“Are you going to fuck me now?” 

Marvolo chuckles. “I see you’ve learned your lesson about asking, not assuming. No, pet, not quite yet.” _The obedience should be encouraged._ “What reward would you like for your good behaviour?” 

Bright green eyes, as poisonly vivid as the Killing Curse that would have closed them forever, blink owlishly at him. Giving him a potion to correct his eye sight for a time has been an inspired idea. Those expressive eyes should never be covered. “I get a reward? Just for behaving? Not for anything extra, like taking the spell?” 

“This time. So, what would you like?” Most people can be encouraged by small things but Marvolo hadn’t had a chance to look over Harry’s own belongings for the sort of small items he liked. 

“Credit toward the next time I fail at something or I’m rude or the like. Is that okay? Or, um, time outside flying?” 

He narrows his eyes. “Harry, you may go outside whenever you like so long as we’re not in the middle of anything and you don’t leave the grounds without telling me where you’ll be going.” 

Harry’s chest flutters with small, rapid breaths. “I’m allowed to leave if I tell you where I’m going? You mean it?” His eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean it like that! You’re not lying. You said you wouldn’t. It’s -- I’m rather surprised, that’s all.” At least the boy has attempted to salvage the accusation and Marvolo decides not to scold him.

“You’re not a prisoner here.” He snorts and Marvolo flicks his ear, gaining a satisfyingly ruffled noise. “As you said, I told you I wouldn’t lie and I won’t. Lying to you would undermine the trust I’m attempting to build.” Simply having a selfish explanation for his actions seems to settle Harry’s unease, who nods along. _Well, I shouldn’t be surprised, should I; at least I can work with that._ “All I insist on is that you live with me and you don’t avoid being here regularly. For now I’m limiting you to short trips simply because I do want you to be safe and there’s been some unrest you shouldn’t have to handle. I know today was not ideal. We’ll find a balance as a couple eventually. If you’d like to go shopping or to a friend’s I’m not going to protest unless it’s excessive.” 

His mouth makes a small round ‘oh’ and Marvolo traces a finger over the bottom lip lightly before leaving it for now. A ring gag is in their near future but not today. 

“What do you see as a good balance?” 

The question surprises him and the delayed response makes the boy’s head bobs down while his shoulders go up. A little bit feral, this one, and for a moment he allows himself to fantasise about what he’s going to do about the cruel whale of a man that peeks out of Harry’s thoughts periodically. It’s a good fantasy; there’s a secure enough holding place here that Marvolo can potentially stretch out the torture for _months_ without the boy catching on.

“Relax, little one.” A hand over his spine works and he relaxes into the touch. “For me a good balance would involve you having hobbies or a career you enjoy, perhaps something useful to my government but I don’t expect it of you. Though, perhaps… I am intending to set up an orphanage and I’d like to make certain it’s overseen appropriately until the children can be settled into new homes.” 

Immediately that perks him up and he nods slightly. “I’d help with that, husband.” 

“Until you can figure out what you want to do more permanently with your future.” He eases closer carefully, resting his ear over Marvolo’s steady heart rate. It’s a small indulgence for him to simply pet Harry for some time, letting him become used to the firm but gentle movements. “After your lessons or your work day we’d have dinner together each night. After dinner I’d take a break from my work day and spend time with you. Often that will involve sex but not always. Then you’ll be free to spend time with your friends or bathing or a hobby before bed. 

“After dinner I’ll also handle if you misbehaved that day, breaking my rules, by, say, being rude to your tutor or leaving without letting me know where you’re going. We might talk about it. I will punish you. And then it’ll be over and I’ll expect better of you the next time.”

“Like… a parent?” 

“Like a dominant. I’ll show you a number of books about it soon. Some people choose this.” He can already see the next question forming and adds, “They enjoy how simple it is, straightforward: good behaviour is rewarded, poor behaviour is punished. There’s clear rules on what’s allowed and not. And the satisfaction of doing it all correctly is good for them.” 

“It accomplishes something.” A glance down shows Harry looking up, green eyes wide and pupils expanded. “Sort of. It feels like it does.”

 _He wants so desperately to be good._ “Yes, darling, very good.”A moment later he’s curled up in Marvolo’s lap the same way he had done at dinner, gaining a few gentle touches. “We need to wash your hair.” 

“Alright.” He doesn’t move and Marvolo ends up summoning the shampoo, handing it over. “Would you do it? Please?” He raises an eyebrow at the softly pleading tone. _Now who’s prodding and pushing to see what works?_ But he says nothing because the helplessness and pleading is a turn-on. Harry has correctly pegged that one and it’s not hard to catch the satisfaction when Marvolo begins to lather the shampoo in his hair. “Oh, that feels good. No one’s ever…” The words trail off, a sense of embarrassment clear in the colour of his neck and stiffness of his limbs. But when Marvolo says nothing of it that eventually fades. 

Once the hair is rinsed he’s finished being patient and he boosts Harry out of the bath before following, summoning two towels closer. “Wrap it around you. No, don’t dry off.” He dries himself before moving on to Harry, carefully going limb by limb while his new husband submits beautifully. “Very good, darling. Even though the order confused you, you obeyed. That’s what I want to see in the future.” 

“I can do that, I think.” Harry’s eyebrow furrows in thought. “You being clear with what you want is good. It helps.” 

“Then, now that you’re nice and clean let’s get you to the bedroom. There’s another spell I’d like to do, little one, to make this easier on you but I promise we’ll only move onto it when you’re ready.” Giving him the easiest way through hadn’t worked the night before, distressing Harry instead, but for now he only looks suspicious as Marvolo prods him out of the bathroom. “The spell ties your pain centre with your pleasure one so that if I, say, use stinging hexes again that will feel pleasurable to you. Of course it’d make any sort of physical punishment pointless as you’d only enjoy it -- physically, at least.” 

Harry pushes his bottom lip out, chewing on it thoughtfully for a long moment. “You want to hurt me.” With a nudge to guide him he climbs up on the bed and sits down, legs hanging over the edge.

“I do. Seeing you take pain for me is attractive in the same vein as seeing you helpless and needy.” 

“Oh. And I’d get a reward for… submitting to this spell. Of my choosing?” 

Marvolo raises a dark eyebrow at the negotiation tactic. “Cute. Slytherin of you, even. Yes, a reward of your choosing. Another, what, chit against punishment, then?” 

Harry hums. “I’m trusting you not to create a false punishment for me to use it on.” 

“You haven’t a choice in that.” But that does not, Marvolo supposes, change that it is an act of trust to treat this as if it’s not futile to negotiate. “I trust you’ll eventually balk all on your own, even without me intentionally testing you. So, that is what you want?” 

The hesitant little nod makes him smile. “I can’t think of anything that’d be more useful. Yes, husband.” 

“Good.” He runs a hand through the chaotic, damp black strands and does the spell in a flash of light before Harry can brace himself. “Now, let’s test it out, shall we?” 

“Oh.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Okay.” 

“Spread your legs for me, little one.” Pale thighs part and fall open, exaggerated by him being lifted further back on the mattress. “Now, you're going to keep them spread for me, yes?" 

Another shaky breath passes through him before he nods, murmuring, "Yes," quietly and keeping his eyes on Marvolo's slow, deliberate movements. He brings his hand down, watching Harry brace himself for the strike. “Ow.” A splash of pain that crosses those open features before the spell pumps back a sense of pleasure. "Oh!" 

Perfect. "Very good." The next few smacks pink the skin at contact while he squirms slightly at each new sensation. A quick spell recoats the plug currently fucking up into him with a very special compound to help ensure Marvolo's pet can't keep himself from coming while being fucked. If his pet thinks it's a purely natural response all the better but he never resolved to play fairly. "The next few will be harder. Are you ready?"

“Yes, Marvolo.” One. Two. Three. Four. The skin blushes fully pink now, blood brought to the surface by each new strike, and Harry hisses in a breath at the fifth strike before his eyes go wide. “Does… Does it feel better because you hit harder?” 

“The harder I hit the more pleasure you get in feedback. It’s based on your pain response, pet, why?” 

“Oh, no. You --” His mouth slams shut with a clack before opening more cautiously, if still with a full sense of accusation. “That was a mean trick.” 

“I told you that the spell would tie your pleasure centre with your pain one, Harry.” 

Green eyes narrow, glinting with anger. “You didn’t tell me it’d do it in a way that’d make me want you to hit me harder and harder.” 

Marvolo frowns. “You didn’t ask. You could have asked in more detail about the specifics of the spellwork. This will be a lesson in using more foresight, I would think.” A harsh pout in response makes it obvious that Harry does not appreciate the scolding warning but the young consort says nothing, soon closing his eyes and turning his head away. He sighs at the antics. “Open your eyes. Hiding away from me and the situation is tiresome.” 

“You can’t --” A whimper of a sound follows and then, “Please, I’m not ignoring you or the situation. I’m overwhelmed. I need to have a chance to… brace myself. It’s helping.” 

Marvolo hums. It’s a reasonable request, he supposes, and… “I know I’ve put a lot on you, Harry, and you’ve done so very well with it. We’ll work on you being overwhelmed.” He runs a hand over a straining inner thigh. “I’d like your thighs to be rosy and warm to the touch before I fuck you. They shouldn’t bruise from that. Do you understand what I want?” 

“Uh-huh.” Harry gulps down air and calms. When the next two slaps hit him hard he starts to close his legs, squirming when they’re forced back open by Marvolo. “What did I say?” 

“Keep my legs spread. It feels so weird. Feels like I should hate it but it’s good, I think. My stomach keeps flipping and I want you to touch me.”

Marvolo murmurs reassurances, running his fingers lightly over the warmed, reddened skin, feeling tiny shudders wrack the smaller form at the sensation. A quick pinch gets him panting and then a caress to Harry’s groin makes the pink mouth gasp open and the teen squirms. “The touch should be heightened, focused less on precisely where I’m touching the way a hard cock would and more on arousing you in general?” 

Academic curiosity distracts him for the moment. He’s never used the spell on anyone himself and he watches the way that Harry rocks into the touch, bucking against the open palm with fascination. The sensitivity _must_ be better or else the actions would be more mindful. He’d only given in with abandon last night once overwhelmed. 

Green eyes squeeze shut and Marvolo flicks the inside of a pink thigh in response. “Sorry. Um, yeah, this feels like… everywhere, my whole shaft all at once, when you touch anywhere on it.” 

Marvolo gives a few experimental strokes, spelling on some lubricant to avoid undesired chafing (purposeful chafing goes on the to-do list), and then begins to wank the completely soft shaft. The squirming speeds up. “Hips still.” 

“No way, can’t.” 

“If you can’t control yourself then I can tie you down.” 

“Or you could watch me squirm,” Harry tries, gasping now. A harsh slap to his right thigh tears a breathy moan from him. “H-How is it going to work, the pain? Is it always going to be like this, on my thighs or bum or such?” 

“I’d like to try different implements.” He tenses and Marvolo strokes the warm spot on his thigh, murmuring soothingly. “Nothing that scares you, pet, but not all pains are equal. Some of them you will like better than others if you let me try.” 

“No belts. Ever.” 

“I will agree to that.” Another small slap with one hand, the other still stroking, and Harry’s hips buck off the bed. “Pet, still your hips.” 

“Can’t! You’re asking too much from me,” he snaps, starting to close his legs to sit before thinking better of it. He lays back down fully but stiffly and repeats, “Too much.” 

Marvolo frowns, pulling both his hands back. He wants to tell his young husband to roll over, aches to show what too much would truly look like, but he heeds the lesson from last night. Harry’s desperate press of magic and the overwhelming rush of terror of the consequences in the bathroom last night was a good reminder of what could happen if he was pushed too far again. Only next time it might cause far more destruction. 

“Snapping at me is not acceptable but I take your point.” 

Harry looks away, towards the ceiling, before fixing on the wall behind Marvolo to follow the rule. “Sorry. For snapping.” His line of sight slides over and he meets Marvolo’s eyes, expression earnest. “Thank you, husband.” 

“I know you want to be good.” 

An agreeing noise makes him flick Harry’s thigh, who moans. “Proper words, little one.” 

“I want you happy with me.” He rolls his shoulders. “It’s safer. What else are you planning? The changes you’ve made, are you planning to make a lot more?” 

He hadn’t planned to move this far ahead yet but Harry kept negotiating, making it easy on him. “Not a lot more… Three, perhaps four, more items on my list.” His eyebrows go up and Marvolo raises his own. “Are you certain you want to know now?” A nod. “Then sit up. No, kneel, legs still spread.” 

He ends up on the end of the bed, his petite form settling in a kneel with his legs spread and his bottom on his heels. At first his shoulders roll inwards but that won’t do. Rolling them back with a soft touch leaves Harry’s hands to rest on his thighs with the palms down. “Bit awkward. I reckon I don’t usually sit up straight.” 

He snorts in return. “You should; it’s better for your back. There’s a spell to help remind you to keep your posture straight, I used it when I was your age. You should consider it.” 

“Not an order?” 

“You’ll sit up straight, shoulders back, when you’re with me like this, but I won’t mandate it the rest of the time. That’s your choice.” 

A pink warmth colours the skin, a pretty shine when his face lightens in weight, relaxing somewhat with an almost undetectable smile. “Yeah, alright. I want to learn the spell. Tomorrow.” 

Summoning the vanity bench over to him, heightening it and placing it close enough to the end of the bed he can easily touch Harry once he sits down, Marvolo agrees, “Tomorrow,” and moves on, reaching over to trace the small, rosy nipples on his husband’s bare chest. “I like the visuals of these puffy and the sensitivity that’d bring if I changed them with a spell. It wouldn’t be like the Stinging Hexes. This would be a cosmetic semi-permanent change and it would mean that you’d enjoy it two, maybe three times as much when I do this.” His fingers pinch down tight and twist, drawing a grimace that turns into fluttering eyes as the pain processes. 

Using the Sensation Inversion Spell had been inspired and it allows him to play with his consort’s nipples for a long time -- pinching, twisting, leaning in to suck -- to the symphony of moans, whimpers, and pleading whines he is so coming to enjoy. When he replicates an ice cube in his hand, running it over the heated flesh, Harry hisses and rolls his hips. He strains against the currently medium-small plug inside of him, clenching down helplessly. 

“So needy, darling. You need a nice, thorough fucking, don’t you?” He shakes his head even as he rocks again; Marvolo only chuckles. The rolling of his hips betrays him. “No? So you wouldn’t mind if I took the plug out and left you empty? Let’s test that.” A slash of his wand and the plug clatters on the bathroom counter. 

Bright green eyes go wide and betrayed, a quiet whine fighting from behind Harry’s teeth as he clenches down on nothing as a combination of honest arousal and potion-induced amplification build up inside him. “Bloody hell.”

“What do you want?” 

His teeth clench. “More.” Marvolo smiles wider but, then, “Of the list. The whole list. I want that.” 

He huffs. “Fine, pet. Along with the hair removal at your groin so that you are always bare to me and your arousal under my complete control, I want you to have augmented nipples -- perhaps simply swollen, perhaps bejeweled -- that are easy to manipulate, a mark on your shoulder blade that will allow me to monitor your health and safety from a distance, and your hair longer. Long enough I can easily gather it in my hand.” 

Harry frowns, reaching up to rub the back of his head. “Why?” 

He gasps when Marvolo leans forward, grasping the short strands and using the grip to pull back. It forces an arch in the other’s back and he leans up to press against that thin chest. “Control, of course.” A flick of his wand and the black hair begins to grow, lengthening 10 centimetres in moments and allowing him to change his grip. It tightens and he runs his wand along Harry’s petite form, asking, “Should I do the tattoo now, darling?” 

“Please don’t.” He sucks in a breath. “Please don’t, husband.” His head shakes the best it can in Marvolo’s tight grip. “I’m not -- Please.” 

“You’re not…?” 

“Ready. Ready for that. I’m not. Not for that, not to b-be Marked. I don’t want you to mark me. Don’t do it.” Harry’s eyes find his, unblinking and undeterred by the eye contact for once. “I’ll fight you, I’ll fight this.” 

Marvolo makes a noise of displeasure, using his grip to stretch Harry’s body up, to extend it as far as it can while he remains on his knees and touching his heels. He doesn’t fight the grip or bring his hands up, gritting his teeth against the strain. “I do not enjoy being told ‘no’, Harry.” 

“I know, but whatever you do to me for this is worth knowing that I fought against being marked by you.” 

Marvolo releases him quite suddenly, sitting back, and Harry pants a little as he settles his eyes back towards the floor. His hand falls around his cheeks now, highlighting the sharp bones and almost delicate bone structure. He looks, almost, part china doll. _My doll to play with as I please. Still, I can be patient in this._ “I see. The hair stays; I like how it looks. As does the Inversion spell for the pain.” 

“Y-yes. ‘Course. Is… Is that all?” Harry nibbles on his bottom lip and Marvolo reaches forward to take his chin, tilting his head upwards. 

“Not quite, pet. Last night you told me that, so long as you received a list of rules, you would give me what I want. What is it I want?” 

He winces. “Obedience. I… I can’t do it. I can’t let you. I know it’s stupid to fight and pointless, that you’re going to punish me and it’ll be awful, and then you’ll mark me anyway, but, _Marvolo_ , I can’t.”

“Whyever not?” 

“Because if I give into that, to being given your Mark --” 

“It’s not the Dark Mark, pet.” 

“It still lets you watch me and find me and, probably, summon me; that’s bad enough. And if I roll over and say, yes, alright, you can do that, then...” His eyes glitter and he sniffles quietly but for now the tears remain unshed as he glances at Marvolo’s face. “I know I’m a whore. Doing this, with you, buys my friends safety and maybe advantages. Hermione’s visits with her parents, at least. I’m a toy to you. A shiny new purchase for what, for you, is a cheap price since you didn’t really want any of my friends dead anyway.” 

He wouldn’t mind Black dead, actually, but Marvolo decides not to mention that for now, wondering how this will play out. “And what does that have to do with marking you?” 

“I’m not worth much, never have been, but I’m not a piece of property. I wasn’t the Dursleys’ slave, even if they treated me like it, and I’m not yours either to wear a tag: owned by Voldemort. I belong to myself.” 

Marvolo hisses. “You belong to me.” 

“As a whore, not a slave,” Harry insists. 

The tears fall now, wet and glittery over his pale cheeks. He lets them, making no move to clean off his face, so Marvolo reaches up to do it. “There, there. Alright, little one.” He sighs quietly. “You’ll come to understand in time that, though I do own you, it’s not to treat you like a slave or debase you as one. You’re my equal even if this is not a marriage of one. I wish to see you flourish under my care, both blooming into your sexuality and growing into your capabilities outside the bedroom.” 

Harry sniffs. “That _sounds_ nice, but it’s still saying you think I do belong to you. Me, not my actions. A slave, not a whore.” 

“No, not either.” The boy doesn’t pull away when his left hand is brought forward or when it’s manipulated so that only the ring finger stands out. Marvolo summons the ring Harry has not yet seen because the Bonding Ceremony did not call for one. The ring itself has his family stone, once home to a horcrux, set into a newer, more comfortable silver setting and sized for his young consort. “In history when a king married his wife was seen as part of his power.

“She belonged to him and served to bolster his leadership. Often these marriages were political, not only attempting to keep royalty within royalty but specifically to secure some sort of treaty. Her role was to obey her king and help him secure his throne. That didn’t make her a slave, Harry. She was still a queen. She still held her own authority, subject to the king’s agreement but very real for the people around her. 

“You will have that. My Death Eaters are, for reasonable tasks, at your disposal because you are my consort. They will obey you or suffer my wrath.” He slips the ring onto Harry’s finger and folds his hand into a fist. “You are a consort; that is far more than a whore. And for now I will be kind and let the Marking go. You’re not ready.” 

“Thank you.” His brow furrows but when Marvolo sits back on the bench, putting his wand down on the floor near his foot, Harry lets out a breath. 

Marvolo reaches up and strokes his still damp cheek before getting up to go to his side of the bed. They’re still both naked and bringing his attention back to that draws him back into his arousal quickly. He strokes himself twice and climbs onto the high bed, moving a pillow up against the headboard and sitting back against it. “Crawl over here, darling.” 

The action stays coltish and unsteady as Harry sways and stumbles his way up the large bed, his brow furrowing. With a bit of focus it’s obvious he’s thinking about how strange he feels to be plugless, his Occlumency shields still inconsistent and easily broken by distraction. “Now what?” 

“Straddle my legs but kneel up.” Obediently, he climbs over the legs and perches close to Marvolo’s chest to avoid his very hard cock. And he reaches between his young consort’s legs, prodding at the empty hole, and getting a series of startled gasps in return. “You seem to have a gasp for everything.” He shifts his fingers, eliciting a gasp. “A startled gasp. A tempted gasp. A pleased one. A needy one.” Each time he moves his fingers Harry gives him a different sound. “Oh, there’s another needy one. What do you want, darling?” 

“Do something.” He rolls his hips against the single finger pressing against the edge of his hole. 

“Something? I am doing something, aren’t I?” 

Now Marvolo breaches the hole, pressing in with two fingers to stretch the tight space that the plug barely opened. Harry gasps and chokes, rocking downward. “Fff.” He leans in close, burying his face into the neck in front of him. “Feels, um… What are we doing tonight?” 

A small push upwards makes him hold his breath and it breaks with a moan when finger pads rub gently against his prostate. “I’m going to stretch you so that you can ride me.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Not enough?” A chuckle shakes them both and Harry groans at the shift inside him. “It would be nice to test your enjoyment of the Inversion spell...” When Marvolo pulls his fingers out, leaving a fluttering hole clenching down to be filled, he gets a disappointed sigh. “Shh, now. Turn over, onto your stomach, across my lap. I’ll start softly, pet, okay?”

Harry obeys gingerly, easing down to press his flat stomach over Marvolo’s hard dick. He adjusts the consort’s posture -- bending his knees, upturning his rear -- and then slowly rubs over the revealed skin until he’s touched all of it. Only then, as they settle, does he bring his hand down for the first time. 

Harry gasps sharply and juts his hips on the rebound of sensation. At the second hit he shifts again and asks, “How many?” 

“Until your skin is rosy.” 

At the slow, methodical build-up Marvolo’s hand smarts a little, never quite enough for discomfort but enough to make him aware of what he’s doing. The second round hurts more, for both of them, and as he bears the small pain easily Harry loses himself in the dual sensation of slaps and pleasure rebounds. He gasps each time he’s spanked, rocking against Marvolo’s erection pleasurably until they’re both quite worked up. 

When the skin turns fully pink, warm in many places to the touch as the blood rises to the surface, Harry begins to whimper, his rocks slowing, and seems on the edge of pleading -- not for cessation but for relief. He doesn’t wish to; that comes through what shields he has loudly, exceedingly clear. And this time he’s given mercy. 

Marvolo stops, slipping his hand lower, casting a flicker of a spell to coat his fingers thoroughly so that he can press them into the tempting hole. “Good boy. Enough teasing, yes? Grind yourself down on my cock, darling.” He does, his own limp cock twitching with arousal against Marvolo’s hard shaft. “Yes, that’s it. Here now.” He pushes his fingers in deep, playing against the swollen node of nerves, and Harry nearly wails in relief. 

“Oh. Ff-Ss.” He clenches his teeth together and moans at the slow touch and withdrawal inside of him. When Marvolo spreads his fingers the entrance clenches down, fighting back the stretch, but he slowly works them in, then out, until the muscles relax and Harry goes boneless. 

“I think you’re ready. This will hurt a little bit, won’t that be nice?” He chokes on a laugh but sighs, crawling off Marvolo’s lap and fingers, onto hands and knees. Yes, his consort is so good at presenting himself. “Down, onto your elbows. Arch your back, bum pushed up. Oh, yes, that’s perfect. You’ll see that submission can be very good for you.” 

Harry huffs at that and turns to look back, their eyes meeting. “Says the man trying to change how I feel things.” He turns away and lays his head down on his crossed arms but doesn’t hide his face or close his eyes. He was told not to. 

“Only in ways that will make this more enjoyable for you given my preferences.” Marvolo squeezes one red cheek, watching the skin go white under pressure and listening to Harry moan. “Now, I wouldn’t want to keep my consort waiting.” 

Slicking up his cock, Marvolo positions himself and presses in, feeling the clenching, shaking press of his pet’s body fighting against the invasion and working past it. He groans, rocking further in as Harry gives centimeter by centimeter until Marvolo bottoms out. He’s long enough that’s a little uncomfortable for his not-quite-fully-grown consort and Harry whimpers before the Inversion spell wipes out the discomfort. 

“Oh, g-- Merlin. It’s… more. It’s more. I can’t.” He whimpers into his arm and squirms under Marvolo’s hold on his hips. “I’m gonna --” His hips jut forward but, of course, there’s no release. He cannot achieve release like that and he cries out, rocking harder, sliding down further to hump the bed fruitlessly and whimpering more when it doesn’t work. “Marvolo!” 

“Back on your knees, Harry.” 

They ease back up, his cock sheathed in a tight hold as Harry squirms his way back onto his knees and elbows. “Please.” He sniffles, but a ‘don’t’ doesn’t come this time. “Please, I wanna… Marvolo.”

Who pulls out, smoothing a hand over his back soothingly at the groan he makes. “Now, now. Don’t worry, pet, you’ll come. Your body knows what to do, how it feels.” 

Marvolo sits back down against the headboard, legs stretched out together. “Come here, over my legs. Kneel up.” Harry’s lower lip pouts out as he moves over, giving a dubious look down at Marvolo’s cock. “It shouldn’t hurt like it did this morning. You weren’t prepared at all then.” Trying to be gentle he cups the boy’s cheek, running a thumb over that pouty lip. “You’ll be in control of the depth and pace here while you adjust. Doesn’t that sound nice?” 

“Uh-huh.” He bites his lip harder. “Yes, husband.” Marvolo smiles. _He is learning._ “So, okay. Um.” He pushes down, pressing the head inside as Marvolo holds himself and watches the pretty little gasp cross onto Harry’s face. “Oh. Ohh. Oh. Uh. Ow. Ohhh -- Marvolo. Marvolo, Mar, Mars --” The sounds, sweet and gasping and overwhelmed, continue as the pressure on his own cock grows as more and more of Harry’s near-virgin arse tightens around him. 

“So good for me.” His consort tries to smile but moans, throwing his head back, eyes rolling as he fucks his prostate on the hard cock inside of him. It’s beautiful to watch, to see the abandon, to take in the losing side of the fight. 

And then he bottoms out, a cry on his lips and his head falls forward. “Too much, too much, oh god, oh, Merlin, fuck.” He struggles to push his knees up but even the small shift inside of him overwhelms him.

Marvolo pinches a nipple much softer than he need to, chiding, “Don’t be crude,” as he watches the sensation add another layer of pleasure. 

“Ss-sorry.” This time Harry pushes his knees up too hard, pulling off the cock entirely. “Oh.” What he lacks in experience Marvolo feels compensated for in the way he responds now. Soon enough he’ll adjust to sex, to the patterns and rhythms of it, but for now… 

“Would you like some help, darling?” 

“Yes.” 

Marvolo takes his hips, positioning him a bit better this time, bracing his own cock for Harry to fuck himself on, and then he helps start a rhythm, tugging up when Harry’s overwhelmed limbs flail, letting him rock in place as he learns how to make his movements shallow but faster, watching out for signs of stress. The pleasure to Marvolo’s own cock feels almost secondary. 

The control is more an aphrodisiac than the physics ever could be. 

“That’s it, little one. Rock yourself to orgasm.” Harry moans quietly, pressing his face into the crook of Marvolo’s neck and rolls his hips. 

There isn’t much movement to this, a few centimetres back and forth, but the constant clenching rhythm milks at his bollocks, making his own breath a bit short as he strokes the back of Harry’s soft hair. 

Who whines as his orgasm gets closer, his rhythm more erratic, and Marvolo uses one hand on his hip to keep the rhythm going. The other he uses to spank Harry, lightly, at first, and then harder. A deep, desperate groan and a new frantic pace answers and as Marvolo’s hand begins to hurt Harry slams down and wails. 

Pulses of friction follow, his body tightening in the aftershocks of orgasm, and Marvolo fucks up into his consort experimentally, dragging another cry from the panting teen. “There. Good?” 

“No. Don’t stop.” He can feel Harry’s expression screw up against his collarbone before he pulls back to look at Marvolo. “Don’t stop.” 

Two, three hard thrusts and Harry gasps breathlessly, his eyes rolling back again. Huh. So be it. 

Marvolo doesn’t stop. Harry weighs little and a long ago ritual for physical strength allows Marvolo to lift him easily, using a grip on his hips to set the rhythm and a much longer stroke than Harry managed alone. Pulling the unresisting teen up so that only the edge of his own dick penetrates and then all the way down, watching the pain-pleasure of the deep stroke play over Harry’s face, puts Marvolo on edge almost immediately. 

He makes the most of it, controlling himself, controlling his consort, controlling the scene, and then as Harry wails again, his own hand rubbing at his sensitive but soft cock, it drives Marvolo to release. 

“Fuck.” 

Harry whimpers. “Gonna be so sore.” 

That makes him chuckle. “Come. I’ll clean you up and heal you.” 

“That’s part of it for you, huh? Clean -- taking care of me afterward. You tucked me in last night.” 

“And I’ll tuck you in tonight too. You could use a nap, at least.” He eases Harry up, off of his own lap, carefully and summons a clean plug, slipping it in without receiving a verbal protest this time. 

“You’re learning.” 

He needs to get ahold of Lucius Malfoy’s old house-elf, who worked at Hogwarts. House-elves, as annoying as they could be, were fiercely loyal to those who were kind to them, something his followers could stand to learn. His consort was kind to house-elves so most likely Malfoy’s elf had remained close. He’d know more of Harry’s likes. 

_Or I could interrogate the girl._

“Learning -- Oh, you mean… There’s no point arguing, right? And it doesn’t feel bad or anything. You’re not hurting me.” 

“I can’t, not that way, not any longer.” 

Harry nods, rolling over onto his stomach and groaning. “It’s unfair you’ve got a huge cock too.” 

Marvolo snorts. His cock might be on the larger size of average but it would hardly be ‘huge’ to an experienced bottom. Oh, well, add large toys to the list of things he wants to expose Harry to. Getting up for a washcloth, Marvolo warms it with water and brings it over, nudging his pet onto his back, cleaning the slight stickiness around Harry’s hole and the precum still able to dribble from his cock. 

“Into bed with you.” 

“You dun have’to.” He bites his lip, looking away. 

“I know. In and I’ll heal you.” The small resistance fades. 

The thing is that, despite a lack of native empathy -- or perhaps because of it -- Marvolo is, magically speaking, a natural empath. It allowed him to use Legilimency and Compulsion Charms, even a small version of the Imperious Curse, with ‘accidental’ magic prior to Hogwarts. It allowed him to manipulate the teachers and other students at Hogwarts. It allows him, when sane, to give his followers what they truly want in exchange for their loyalty. 

And it’s telling him now that Harry enjoys the care even as he knows it’s a mechanism of control. 

So Marvolo tucks him in, stroking his hair as Harry’s eyes blink sleepily. “Rest, Harry.”

“Night, Marvolo.” 

A subtle influence charm eases him to sleep as easily as a lullaby and Marvolo sighs. He has work to do and he needs to set up a meeting with Sirius Black.


End file.
